The Vicious One
by ObviouslyAnnoyed
Summary: We are the cursed lovers of District 2. We are forced to play the game, knowing there is no way to avoid game over. And when the game is over, I will either be dead, or wish I was. Because the odds were never in our favor. We were doomed from the start. / Canon & Alternate ending.
1. When Hearts Break

**Warning:** If you don't like to read stories with a lot of violence, bloody gore, ruthless sadism, teen-pregnancies, mild (kind of) sexual content or (cough..very..) foul language you can just click yourself out right away.

But if you do however, just keep on reading.

This is my vision -at least one of them- of Clove and Cato and their doomed love. They were human even though they were raised as ruthless Careers which messed them up pretty badly. I want to show you how underneath those confident surfaces of emotionless killers they were just terrified children who actually loved. So here is my version of the lovers who were raised to murder and born to die.

This story is written from Clove's point of view and it will have an alternate ending but also one which follows the book. Rating may change to M, though I will try to keep it T.

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize, Suzanne Collins does.

And please don't be afraid to tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is much appreciated.

Enjoy!

xx

-Drea

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><p>1.<p>

When Hearts Break

The shattering sound;

When hearts break

Will they ever mend?

Or is this the eternal end?

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><p>"<em>I'm falling apart. I'm barely breathing. With a broken heart that's still beating. In the pain, there is healing. In your name, I find meaning." Broken, Lifehouse<em>

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><p><em>Fear sparks in his muddy brown eyes, and flickers over his ugly features. His eyes can't seem to hold still as they roam the shadows behind for an escape. An escape he can't find, because there isn't one. He is trapped, and he knows I'm going to kill him. <em>

_I have to._

_I _want _to._

_Killing him will avenge my brother's death. This asshole killed him. Why, is beyond my comprehension. But the fact that he did triggers the blood lust I have tried to keep buried deep within for so long. And why I tried to strain my sadistic instincts? To please my brother. But he is dead. And you can't please the dead._

_Why he was killed doesn't really matter either. Killing isn't unusual in District 2. Almost all of our district's inhabitants are raised to draw blood, me and my brother alike. But of us, I'm the only one practicing the dark, but oh so satisfying deed. It sickened my brother. So much, that he would rather be killed than kill someone. Even in self-defense._

_By killing his murderer, I will give my brother the justice he deserves. But I know if he had been alive this would be the last thing he would want me doing. But I'm doing it to justify my brother, it is the only way I know how. But I'm also doing it for myself, it is what I need. What I need to keep insanity from invading my already impure mind._

_Walking slowly toward him, I enjoy his terrified expression. With each step I take, the brave face he tries to put on fades into fear. I walk to stand right before him. A meter or so separating him from his certain death. I want to laugh at the thought as it fills me with uncontrollable bliss._

"_Aren't you going to fight back?" I purr tauntingly while swirling my knife between my fingers. I make sure he sees it, I want the terror to paralyze him as much as possible. Not because I believe I can't fight him if it comes to that. But because inflicting fear, inflicting pain, makes me feel powerful. Makes me feel _alive.

_A low snickering escapes my lips, exposing my deranged joy to him. He flinches. And I can almost see the mental slap he must be giving himself afterward. Showing weakness in the claw of the enemy will not get you out alive. You will receive no mercy, get no compassion. It is rule one in District 2; show no weakness._

"_You know," I say, touching the blade of my beloved knife lovingly. "you're going to get killed by a girl." I look up at him and smirk meanly. "A thirteen year old girl." I stroke the beautiful blade again, feeling the sharp tip against my flawless skin. But not puncturing. No, it is his skin that will be punctured by the sharp edge._

"_Are you afraid?" He seems determined not to break his confident act, but I can see the fear in is muddy brown eyes. I can see the uncertainty in his firmly set jaw. He stands in silence, making no move to answer the question. "Answer me!" I shout, irritation slowly settling. I can see the internal battle he has with himself, it shows on his ugly face. If he admits his fear, he will openly show his weakness. But if he doesn't, he stands in line of angering me even more. Which he clearly understands. Smart boy, sacrificing his pride to not feel my wrath. Too bad smart choices won't save him now._

"_Yes," he says solemnly. Like admitting that fact alone, can save him from his death. It can't. It never could. He meets my gaze boldly, like he has mustered that last fiber of courage in his body to fight. But it doesn't keep him from flinching as I laugh my vicious laugh._

_Then, the fool tries to run. He is clinging to the last hope of mercy. But I don't do mercy. And with a flick of my wrist the knife whizzes through the air and finds its goal: his very back. He comes to a halt in mid-run, and falls to his knees. I can hear him coughing, but it ends in a gurgle, blood spluttering everywhere as the merciless knife hit a lung or another fatal organ. It pleases me._

_Then the coughing and the movement stops. He is dead. _

_Laughter erupts from the shadows behind me. A laughter I know better than my own. A well-known form comes into sight. He eyes the dead foe approvingly, before turning to me, "You're a vicious little one, aren't you?" Cato ruffles my hair playfully -something he knows annoys me- and grins that mean shark grin of his, which is known to terrify the whole population of District 2. I scowl at him in that sharp way only I can. But that little annoyance does nothing to falter my joy. Finally, I have gotten my revenge. Finally, my thirst for blood has been quenched. For now, at least._

_Grinning evilly up at him -dark and dangerous bliss spreading through my body- the truth escapes my lips, "I loved it."_

With a start, I wake up from the trip down memory lane. From the dream that was the replay of my first kill. I sit up groggily in my dark bedroom, trying to rub the tiredness away. No such luck.

Sighing, I remember my brother; how he always understood me, yet being the opposite of me in every possible way. He was kind and likable and definitely not a murderer. As I'm cruel and vicious. The people I have killed are so many. And yet I can't bring myself to regret any of them. Because I am born a murderer. Literally. What killed my mother, was my birth. And ever since the day I was born, I always was destined to be a killer. A monster of the most terrifying sort. That kind of monster you have nightmares about, and that kind that haunts your mind. That kind who tortures you, kills you and then laughs because the uncontrollable feeling of joy is too much to tame.

I never asked to be like this, but when I think about it, I wouldn't want it any other way. Because nothing feels as good as cutting deep into someone's flesh with my deadly knife, tearing their veins open, and watching blood pour like a wide red river of pleasure. Nothing can even begin to compare to the surging emotion of consuming bliss when you know you have the complete control over a person's life, or rather a person's death. It is pleasing, it is comfort, it is the only thing I have ever known.

Suddenly the door flies open, tearing me out of my thoughts. In strides the boy who calls me his, who thinks he owns me. And we both know deep within -to my big frustration- that he is right. He knows every expression on my face, has felt every inch of my bare skin, and he sees everything I really am. He sees the darkness in my eyes, the evil in my mind, the hatred in my body. He sees me for the twisted, dark little thing I really am, and he still uses that tiny, incredibly small piece of the humanity left in his body to care about me. And him caring means endless taunting, irritating remarks, infuriating fights and body-wrecking sex. Those things are his deranged picture of care, and I don't mind as that picture is beautifully identical to mine.

He draws back the curtains, and the bright morning light shines through the window and blinds me with the fierce brightness of it all. Cato poises himself between me and the gleaming sun, his great body casting long shadows across my bedroom.

An excited, yet suggestive and intimate grin takes hold of his face. "Rise and shine, sunshine." he says in his deep voice. That spark of excitement can't seem to be erased. Today is the day of the Reaping. In other districts being drawn for the games is a tragedy. But not in District 2. Here it is an honor to get drawn, or to volunteer. And volunteering is exactly what my sadistic boyfriend plans on. The way he grins excitedly down at me, makes me think about how much he looks like a little boy in the candy shop. Even though his candy is cold-blooded murder.

A knot of fear tightens in the pit of my stomach, setting it in unease. I have never been truly worried about him, not before now. My trust in his skills has been too blind. Because I know, whether or not I allow myself to realize it, that something can go wrong. He can easily kill all the tributes. He knows how to fight, he can kill them before they even get to draw their weapon. But it isn't the other tributes that makes me worry; it is the Gamemakers. I know that if they decide to target him, he will be dead before he even knew.

My heart squeezes in fear as I think about living without him. He is my rock, my support, the only one who would ever care if I got killed. No matter how fucking pathetic it sounds, it is true; he's my everything. And if he ever gets taken from me, I won't know what to do.

"It's too early for that." I say coldly as I try to stifle a yawn, but don't quite manage.

"For what?" he asks, playfully, almost jumping up and down in excitement where he stands. But I know he knows what I mean. As I try to blink the tiredness out of my eyes while running a hand through my unruly hair, he sits down on the bed, silently watching me.

"For this excitement. This happy thing." And the next thing I know he has attacked my lips and lifted me from my bed. He holds me up and close to him by an arm around my waist, my feet dangling beneath me, while his other hand roughly cups the back of my head, forcing my mouth hard on his. My hands are in his dirty-blond hair, making tiny knots before brushing through his hair again with my fingers. A growling moan is to be heard deep down in his throat, urging me on.

Pulling away from the kiss he looks into my eyes, that playful spark telling me he is up to no good. But then again, he never is. "Oh, come on, angel! Soon you're going to be the girlfriend of a Hunger Games victor!" I can't help but smile inwardly at the boyish, but yet so dark grin he can't quite get rid of, no matter how old he gets. Before I can react he has thrown me back on the bed, the soft mattress cushioning the slight fall. He lands on top of me, making sure to take all his weight on his elbows so I don't get crushed by him.

The sigh that makes its way from my lips alarms him, and a frown appears on his forehead. He lets me turn us around so that I end up on top. Straddling his torso, I inch closer toward his lap and then I sit up. He follows suit. "What is it?" he grumbles, obviously annoyed with being interrupted.

I search his deep blue eyes. For what, I'm not sure. Maybe a slight doubt in his skills, or in coming home? Or maybe another reason to keep him in my bed and not let him go. Sadly, I know that when Cato has set his mind on something it will be pursued until he gets what he wants. The reason I know? I was also one of those things, not that he had to chase me much before I finally gave in. Somehow it is sad to see him want this so badly that he wants to leave me to fulfill his dreams, but I also understand him. As it is both our dreams; to win and bathe ourselves in the glory of sweet victory. Or simply to kill and indulge ourselves the joys of sadism, without the threat of death penalty hanging over us. The authorities have been on my neck for some time now, and I can't say it has been a happy time. They have extra Peacekeepers watching me. So much for privacy.

"Clove," he says and places his hands on my hips. "I've known you long enough to see when something's bothering you." And it surprises me that he chooses to voice his thought. Usually when I give one of those alarming sighs, he would just continue ravishing me. And that he asks so gently, really catches me off guard. Cato is usually just plain mean, arrogant, conceited, self-absorbed... Yes, the list continues forever.

I silently consider to tell him it is nothing. But then again, like he said, he has known me for a long time. He knows me, and he knows when I'm lying, "I-I'm worried." I confess, lowering my gaze, slightly embarrassed. He chuckles his usual mean chuckle as I utter those words. A confession of my feelings. But then the chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh rumbling through his broad chest, and I frown which in its turn changes into a dangerous scowl. "I'm being serious!" I hit his chest in angered annoyance.

His laughter falters and a look of seriousness replaces his taunting grin. "I know." he says simply. "But I also know there's no reason for you to worry. I'll win this," He grins in excitement. "you know I've been training all my life." With the lowest sigh I let my hands rest on his broad chest. Though it is barely audible, I know by the way his forehead creases that he had heard me. And he seems determined to set me at ease. "You know I'll win. I was born to do this. Hell, we were both born to do this. Only this year it's my turn. Next year will be yours. And then, of course I'll worry, but I know you can do it. Have faith in me, angel."

Again, his way of convincing me has set me at ease. It also surprises me. Cato looks like he has an intelligence way below average. With his massive muscles, shark-like grin and way of acting rude and scary he looks like a man who has lived his life out of civilization. But I know he has a brain, and has used it to out-smart both me and his victims on several occasions. He isn't just brawn. But although he has his moments, he often speaks without thinking, it causes him a lot of trouble.

I nod. He is right, but still I can't keep the unease from cutting its way through my body. What I need is to pound my fists into something, or preferably someone. To let out the frustration that is bottling up inside. Fighting, or rather killing, has always been the best medicine for me, it has done better than painkillers and other medications ever could.

Cato has found another way to excite himself as I'm lost in my wicked thoughts; staring at my chest. Boys will always be boys, and my devilish boyfriend is no exception. The white tank top I slept in is slightly see-through, and Cato has always held a certain fascination for my front parts. It is funny really, how they mesmerize him.

I cross my arms over my chest. He looks at me questioningly, pleading with his eyes. As I roll mine, he says, "Angel." He leans in closer until his mouth is right before mine. "We have time." His hands starts traveling north for my hips.

"Cato," I say softly, but determined. If I give into him now, I'm afraid I won't be able to let go. "I'm not in the mood." If I give into him I know it will be so hard to let go, and I'm not going to let him see that weakness.

He pouts. "But it's my last chance before the Games." I hit him on his chest to keep him from getting any closer.

"Cato." I whisper determined. "Not now." He seems to get the picture and draws back reluctantly. His hands that was on a journey to find my two external body parts unwillingly retreats and make their way back to my hips.

"Stop worrying." he says at last. "Now, go get dressed. The Reaping is waiting." With a mischievous grin he lets go off me. As I walk to the other side of the room to my dresser I feel his gaze on my back. And I roll my eyes as I realize the reason behind that grin of his; he's not planning to leave me alone to dress.

Though I'm standing with my back to him I'm still aware of his lingering gaze as I take my tank top off. My hair flows down my shoulders, covering most of my back. I look back at my handsome boyfriend to see him watching me, as expected. Smiling sweetly at him I turn back and finish dressing.

My eyes seeks his as I stop before him, fully clothed this time. He looks up at me, being that I'm standing and he is sitting on the edge of my bed. Sighing, I lay my hands on each side of his face. "You will come back to me. You'll not do anything reckless and stupid, okay? You'll think, and you'll win, and you'll come back to me. You got that?" I stare him down with a gaze so intense I hope it conveys how much I need him. "You have to, Cato. You have to come back to me."

"Angel," he says, removing my hands from his face and entwining them with his own. "I'll always come back to you. I always do, don't I?" I search his eyes, and I know he is speaking the truth.

Letting out a breath of relief I didn't know I held, I nod once. "Come on." I say and tug at his hand. He said he would come back to me, he promised. Cato never lies to me.

...

Cato insists on making me breakfast. Always telling me I eat too little. He his a good cook, without a doubt. But because of my nerves, the food won't go down easily.

The only reason he was able to make me breakfast today is because my father isn't home. My father who has hated me with a burning passion since the day I was born, as my mother died giving birth to me. He believes I killed the only woman he loved.

Yet, he trains me for the Games, telling me it would disgrace our family if I get drawn and fail to win. Because of my mother and father who both were victors I have a really good chance at being drawn. Who wouldn't like two victor's kid to follow in her parents footsteps? But everyone knows -to some extent- that I will eventually volunteer. By training me for the Games my father prevents humiliation of our 'family'.

Over the years, my skills have grown in high-speed, easily making me the best, and most feared, female in the district. I have gotten quite the reputation, as whenever it is a big brawl somewhere, you are likely to find me in the middle of it.

Cato also trains for the Games, obviously. We train at one of the several training centers, made to make victors. But officially they are training Peacekeepers, as training for the Games isn't allowed. It has never stopped us though. Even though I'm sure the Capitol knows, they see through their blind eye as they kind of favor us from the other districts.

Cato and I train at the main training center in District 2. You start when you turn eight with the other eight year olds. You get assigned a trainer, I -of course- got assigned my father who had begun training me already at the age of six. The Training Center works like some kind of school, though we almost never have any actual subjects, only sometimes we have to go to obligatory classes about Panem's history.

Due to the strict rules we are not allowed to show any affection for the other sex. We are expected to act like cold, professional murderers -not that I have a problem with that- and if they find anyone just goofing off you are really risking getting a violent punishment, like whipping or torture of another form.

They also keep monthly check-ups on our weight, height and body. I hate those check-ups, the feeling of some random stranger examining your body to look for the ever so slightest imperfection makes me feel sick.

Though we don't get to joke around the trainers are really fans of letting us spar. It is good entertainment, I suppose. And they can determine who will get to fight for the permission to volunteer. If you volunteer for the Games without permission from the Council, it can have severe consequences, both for you and your family.

This year Cato has won his permission. And the girl tribute will be Gia Ackworth, an annoying bitch who really hates me. She is mad at me for killing her 'boyfriend', and she has always been after Cato. When I snatched him before her eyes she made it her life goal to make my life a living hell. But I know she is scared of me, though with good reason.

Gia has always been convinced -especially after Mark's _tragic _death- that she and Cato belong together. She is so wrong. Cato belongs with me. We know each other better than we know ourselves. When Cato and I spar we can go on forever. We are equally skilled in what we know the most. Both of us knowing what the other's move is most likely to be. We have a special understanding for the other's mindset. He knows I have got a mean right-hook, and that I'm most likely to try and pin my prey to the ground. While he always catches his contender with brutal force, preferably with breaking some of their bones. And that is only one of the many reasons that makes him belong with me and not with her.

With the nervous tension of my anxiety hanging over us we make our way to the town square where the Reaping is held. Cato notices and nudges me slightly in the arm. It is as far as we can go in public. They all know that Cato and I are close, and our so-called relationship is common knowledge among the youth of District 2, but if the trainers found out, hell would break loose. But even though he is only walking beside me, his presence still soothes me and my fragile nerves. He grins down at me, his happiness not willing to fade.

People walking by sends us their usual stares. It is funny how the two most feared in the district have found each other, isn't it? I know they think it is weird how someone who is as small as me dares to be near someone as big as him. They think I should be afraid of him. But they don't know him like I do. They only see him as the eighteen year old boy over twice their size. But I know what is inside of him. And I know he will never hurt me. Okay, that is a lie. He has hurt me a lot of times, but at least I know he will never kill me.

We stop in an alley behind the bakery, sneaking off for some final kisses before he goes into the Games. He bends down to kiss me, enveloping me in his warmth. I kiss him back, not being able to let go of him. "I'll be back before you know it." A sly grin spreads on his lips. "Then we'll have a proper reunion." Our lips meet one more time and I'm not able to let go, and my fists curl around his t-shirt, as if that can make him stay. The kiss grows brutal, and I know by the way his hands roam my body hungrily that I soon can't stay true to the decision of making it easier for myself and not being with him.

Cato slams me against the alley wall, and lifts me so we are at the same level. And as he kisses my neck, nibbling the slightest, all my resolve falters with shameful ease. "Get a room!" someone yells, and I turn my head to peak out of the small alley entrance. Poor guy, doesn't know who he is messing with. I break away from the kiss to give the intruder one of my death glares. And even though Cato still has me up against the wall, he soon backtracks as he sees who he just offended. I love how my reputation is still all-known.

I laugh at the pathetic boy, causing Cato to grin at me. And I'm still laughing meanly as I kiss him once more, promising him I will come and say goodbye. Then I muster enough willpower to let go off him -because that boy noticing us got my resolve on its feet again- to let him pursue his dreams, no matter how much I dread it. As I walk to the area of the sixteen year olds, he walks to where the eighteen year olds are standing, and I can't do anything but to hope with my whole heart that him volunteering is an idea that won't backfire.

...

Oceana Silviri, District 2's escort appears on stage as the mayor finishes talking. And she eagerly makes her way toward the microphone. With her sick surgery-looking face that I'm sure scares our district's kids, her lime-green hair that bounces in too perfect ringlets around her head, and bright yellow dress that shows off way too much, she fits the Capitol stereotype perfectly. But she, as everyone else from the Capitol, looks like she has fallen into a bucket of paint. I almost flinch as she speaks loudly with her shrill voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, let me welcome you to the Reaping of the 74th Hunger Games! Among you today stands one boy and one girl who will compete for the honor of winning this years Games!"

Oceana flashes a white smile before she continues, "Let's start with the boys, shall we?" She makes her way toward the first glass bowl. I smirk as my sight automatically seeks my boyfriend, who makes himself ready to pounce onto the stage. "The boy tribute-" The hushed silence that follows is broken by a baby's cries and my heart unwillingly clenches at the sound. Oceana looks annoyed as the baby ruined her building suspense. "-of this years Hunger Games is.."

"I volunteer!" Cato hastily runs onto the stage with a shark smile of triumph lingering on his lips. Oceana, obviously annoyed with being interrupted, narrows her eyes at him and clucks her tongue.

"What's your name then?" she asks, eyeing him up and down. He smirks at her, which seems to annoy her even more. Cato can have his way with people, when he wants to. But that is rarely the case. And he lives for angering, scaring and annoying people. He thinks it is fun to watch them struggle with the emotions he causes. His sadism comes in more forms than one.

"Cato Merquen." he says. His arrogance shining in his handsome features, and his stance screaming proud in every possible way. Because if it is something Cato values here in life, it is his pride. And he takes pride in everything he does.

"An applause to Cato, everybody!" His blue eyes are gleaming as they find mine and the applause erupts. He throws me a charming smile and I smirk back. In spite of the feeling of anxiety etching itself into my body, I can't help but feel proud. I know my boy is going to crush them.

The applause slowly fades as Oceana takes small steps toward the other Reaping ball. She digs her small hand with her claws of fingernails into the bowl before retreating with a note in her hand. "And now, the girls." She reads the note and the silence of suspense fills the air. "The girl tribute of the 74th Hunger Games is.."

Cato's eyes bore into mine, and all I can do is try to not get too lost in his deep blue eyes. I wait for Gia's annoying voice to shriek that she volunteers, but instead find myself an unpleasant surprise. In which case is the biggest understatement ever. A chill of cold terror-filled confusion goes down my spine as the next words escape Oceana's lips,

"Clove Cavia!"

I can't quite grasp the truth of the situation; it doesn't make sense. I'm sure I heard wrong. I mean, I'm not drawn. It's all a misunderstanding. Cato flinches slightly at the words, but soon gains his composure. Soothed by the same fact as I; Gia volunteering.

But no scream for willing participation is to be heard, not from Gia nor anyone else. My breath hitches in my throat and I can't seem to catch any breath. At all. I don't believe it is me. I mean, it can't be, can it? No, that is too much of a coincidence. I can't be drawn. Not this year. Not when Cato has already volunteered.

"Oh my god, she has to fight her boyfriend." As a girl behind me whispers those very words, the merciless truth sinks in. It hits me with such a force that my heart skips a couple of beats. Hands have come inside my mind and are ripping out my sanity and every single thing that makes sense. And I can't do anything but force myself to take a long calm breath and walk onto the stage. Shock has numbed me and I'm kind of glad, since I don't know what I would do if I had slammed into the usual wall of rage.

I want to scream. But I know it won't help me now. So I keep my usual cold glare in check, careful not to convey any other emotion than hatred. I find myself having trouble breathing, and every intake feels like I'm breathing glass that cuts an open gash into my heart. It has to be a mistake. This can't be.

Slowly, I let my cold glare glide over the crowd, stopping on my least favorite person in the world right now. Gia stands there smirking as I urge her with my eyes to step in or do anything for that matter. But she only smirks an infuriating smirk which eats on my already frail nerves. She loves how helpless I am, she loves to see me almost beg her to do something to save my sorry little ass. Both of us knowing she won't do it, the reason being that I killed Mark. Her on-and-off boyfriend who held this creepy fascination with me. Payback is a evil bitch.

My breath isn't nowhere near normal speed and I'm getting concerned I will start to hyperventilate. With forced calm, I make my breathing pace go back to normal. As it calms enough so that I'm sure I won't suddenly gag on oxygen, or the lack of it, I make myself look quickly at Cato. He looks as frozen as I, the anguish he is feeling not being evident on his face. No, to others it just looks like his normal hostile expression. But to me, who know him better than I know myself, I know it lays in his firmly set jaw and tense shoulders.

When our gazes finally connect, a barely audible gasp of pain erupts from my throat, describing the evident anguish in his eyes. The one I'm sure is reflecting in my very own. The pain sickens me. Deep into my heart, and it feels like I have inhaled even more glass. It feels like I'm choking on it. It is the pain of knowing I'm going to lose the only grip of humanity I have left. That I'm going to lose Cato – my everything.

The pain isn't unfamiliar in any way. In fact its sickening grip has had a hold on me on several occasions. Especially one.

_I'm sitting on the bathroom floor, wondering how I screwed up so fucking bad as I stare at the little pink plus sign. I've just turned fifteen. I'm only fifteen! But I guess it is what they say: karma is a fucking bitch._

_I feel numb, insecure and most of all I feel scared, and that heart sickening pain. Emotions I so rarely feel, all at once._

_Numbness has built a tiny wall around me. I can hear truth knocking mercilessly, waiting for me to let it in, and I know I will go into hysterics whenever I answer. Right now, the wall has lulled me in its fake comfort. But the wall is still too thin, and truth's quiet whispering is to be heard through._

_Insecurity is wrapped around me like a blanket of shock. Paralyzing me with its heavy weight. And I don't know what to do. I don't even know it is true, or if insanity is playing a trick on my mind. Insecurity feels so weak, like it has drained me from everything I know._

_Fear has taken place in my body. The creature in my abdomen -not bigger than my palm- is the cause of the fear. Of all the things I have ever faced, the thing is the only thing that has made me tremble. Fear tastes bitter in the back of my throat, and no matter how much I try, I can't swallow it down._

_The sickening pain has set its claws deep in my aching heart. Pulling, pushing, shattering. The claws sink deeper and deeper as the thoughts invade my mind. The pain is so thick, so tight around my heart that I'm afraid I will suffer a heartbreak I can't survive. I don't think Cato and I can survive this, not as lovers, not as a couple. He won't want me after this. He won't handle this. And that thought alone is enough to make me want to die. I don't have anyone else. And if he leaves, if I lose him I won't have anything else to live for. The pain is eating my insides slowly. Oh so excruciatingly slow. It is tearing me apart._

_Fury washes over me, fierce hateful fury. I throw the test across the room. It flies full force into the mirror, but the mirror doesn't break like I want it to. Fighting the urge to smash the mirror with my bare hands, I pull at my hair instead. Why me? Why is this happening to _me_? _

_In a surge of pure anger I jump to my feet. The reflection of the mirror startling me. I look like a wild animal ready to pounce on its prey. My breathing goes faster and faster as I study myself. Quickly I undress. I have to see it for myself, if it is not a bump it has to be false alarm, right? But a voice in the back of my mind tells me otherwise. _What about all the signs?

_Standing naked I turn to look at myself sideways. My torso is perfectly flat, just like it always has been. I let my hand run over my smooth skin. Just because I can't see it, it doesn't mean I can't _feel _it. It feels like I have swallowed butterflies that won't stop fluttering within me. _

_I need them to go away. I can't have the fluttering as a constant reminder of what is growing inside of me. I drag myself into the shower, thinking some steaming hot water will get my thoughts on another track. The hot water that runs down my back doesn't do anything to calm my anger, rather aggravating it._

_When I don't feel like punching something, I muster the courage to step out of the shower. It feels like the pain has eaten its way into my body and left a hole where my heart should be. What will I tell Cato?_

_Dread settles in me as I throw a towel around my body. And as I walk out of the bathroom I jump when I see him sitting on my bed. No, I'm not ready to face him. His face lights up as I come into sight. But it freezes in a grimace as he sees me. When I fail to sit down in his lap, as I usually would do, his forehead creases in confusion. Should I tell him? He would be so angry if I didn't. There are already rumors going around, and chances are that he will find out. He better hear it from me._

_He wipes my wet hair out of my eyes and I draw a shaky breath. "Cato." I say, my voice breaking as I utter his name. My heart breaks as I look into his blue eyes and I can't help but think that this will ruin his life as well as it is ruining mine. "I have to tell you something." _

"_Angel?" he asks. I can see the panic behind his eyes, the one he struggles to keep in check. He isn't known to keep his emotions down, but I can see his effort on this one. _

"_You have to promise me not to freak out. Promise me you won't be mad." I know that he will be though. No matter if he promises or not, he stands at mercy for his temper, just like me. And I don't think tempers do mercy._

"_Just tell me." he says, knowing that he probably will get mad thus the reason I tell him not to be. He clenches his teeth, as if it will keep him safe from the more than unpleasant truth he will soon hear._

_Slowly I close my eyes, seeing nothing but the faint colors swirling behind my lids, before I open them with a breath of heartbreak. I try to take in as much as I can of his handsome features and his scent, as I'm sure he will soon leave. He will leave and take my broken heart with him._

"_I-I.." I stutter, not being able to utter the words which will end my life. Saying it out loud will feel so final. Like saying it out alone will make it true._

"_You what?" he asks, dragging the words out. The flash of genuine fear in his eyes urges me on. I have managed to scare him. I swear on my father's soon-to-be death that it never has happened before. And I'm not glad I finally managed._

_He reaches out for me, and I jump back, "Don't." I whisper. Finally, determination hits me. And as he watches me, with an ever so concerned expression, I say the two dreaded words, "I'm pregnant." I almost gag as I utter them. And when I look at Cato, his expression is blank, like he didn't quite comprehend what I said. Praying he heard them, I hope I won't have to say them again. Once was enough._

"_What?" he whispers. Understanding is slowly dawning on him. Too slowly. It is torture as I see his face slowly turn into a mask of shock. Soon enough it will become rage._

"_I-It's yours." Like it is any doubt about that. He is the only one I have ever slept with. He was my first, but as the rage slowly grows in his deep blue eyes I'm almost certain I won't be his last._

"_No." he says with calm rage that is just waiting to break free from its smooth surface. "It can't be. I mean, you can't be. Clove, please tell me this is just some sick joke you're playing on me." The way his voice pleads is unbearable._

_Firmly I shake my head. "No, I wouldn't joke about this." And I know he can see the truth in my eyes as he suddenly rises from my bed. He punches the wall as hard as he can, leaving a dent as a souvenir. Because he soon disappears out the door, but not before glaring at me with a look of insane fury etched into his face. The hollow echo of the door slamming resounds long after he is gone._

_All I can do is stare at the door where he disappeared with my shattered heart._

In that moment I was so certain I had lost him. I find this old heartbreak much less painful to deal with than this new one. Because this time one of us will have to die in order to save the other. The one who gets to live will serve a faith worse than the dead one's. The one who lives will have to live with a broken heart.

_Deciding I will try shower my pain away I stalk into the bathroom again. When I stop to drop my towel I catch a glimpse of my pitiful self in the mirror. Suddenly my bubbling rage is too much for me to control, it boils beneath my skin and with that surge of blind anger I punch the mirror. A satisfying shattering sound erupts and bounces around inside the tiny bathroom. My fist is bleeding, and the shattered glass is scattered everywhere. But I don't care. I don't care about anything but the boy that just walked out the door, probably hoping to never see me again._

_I'm shaking so badly when I finally waddle my way into the shower. The sobs trembling through my body like an earthquake. The burning anger isn't yet to be extinguished. And with a scream of sorrowful fury I slam the showerhead into the wall. It breaks and water splutters everywhere. I pound my fist into the cabinet, but it is of plastic and doesn't break as easily. When everything around me is more of a broken mess than I, I sit down and hug my knees to my chest. Then, I sob my heart out._

_When my tears have stopped and my trembling has calmed I make my way out. Wrapping myself in the very same towel as last time, which hasn't quite dried. I look at the place where my mirror used to be, and I'm suddenly glad I'm not able to see myself, being that my face must be read from crying. To exit the room I have to step on the broken glass. Sharp pieces pierce my feet, but the pain is nowhere near to be compared to the one ache that has replaced my heart._

_Busy with trying to fight the urge to burst into tears again, I don't notice him sitting on the bed as I make my way out of the broken room. But when I see him, I jump, startled out of my skin. _

_Slowly, hesitating I walk toward him, awaiting his sudden outburst of anger. But it doesn't come, and he lets me stop right in front of him. His eyes lingering on my red face and mine resting on his which holds barely restrained fury._

"_I'm sorry." he says. And I can't even begin to understand what he is saying sorry for. He wipes the wet hair out of my puffy eyes._

"_For what?" I ask, embarrassed to hear my voice breaking. He looks so helpless, like it is so much he wants to say, but he doesn't quite know how to say it. And it is scary to see that my rock, the only person I always thought was so sure of himself look so perplexed, so lost._

"_For breaking the promise." And I remember I had made him promise to me not to get mad, which he of course got. But it doesn't matter. He came back! I don't know if he plans on staying. But for now I'm just satisfied with the fact that he came back._

"_It's okay." I'm just relieved that he hasn't abandoned me just yet. And it makes this _thing _so much easier to deal with._

_He nods, inhaling slowly with his mouth which ends in a sigh. And that sigh of hopelessness triggers the tears that are waiting to flow down my cheeks. "A-Are you sure?" Without another word I walk to retrieve the dreaded test. When I come back I show him the stick with the pink plus sign and his calm fury reaches new heights. I can practically see his eyes burning._

_Again, he nods. Like any other response takes too much of an effort. Or maybe he is just fighting his anger. Knowing him, it is probably the latter. But as he reaches out for me I can't help but fall into his arms, the sobs already shaking my body before he encloses me in his warmth. He whispers words of assurance in my ear as I cling to him. Afraid that if I let go, he will just disappear, vanish before my eyes. I can't let that happen, I won't let that happen._

_He is mine, and although the fact that he came back to me eases my ache a bit, there is no guarantee he will stay. And I fall asleep in his arms knowing that this pain roaming my chest may never subside. _

_..._

_As I wake I feel his body curling around mine, like protecting me from the terrifying place our world has become. And in that moment, it feels like he is handing my heart back, though still battered. But the thing is; I don't want it back. I want him to have it. Because without him, my heart isn't worth a damn thing._

_In that moment I'm more sure than anything that he won't leave my side. I'm still, indeed, terrified, but knowing Cato will be there makes it bearable._

Oceana gestures for us to shake hands. As I slowly reach out to touch him the world around us disappears for the slightest second. My thumb traces one of his scars, the one he got when he was twelve and didn't handle his weapon properly. It has left a soft dent in his skin, the perfect size for my thumb to trace.

Cato looks into my eyes and squeezes my hand reassuringly. As if everything is going to be okay, and that this is just a little bump in the road to happiness. But I know that this bump will kill one of us, and that it isn't to be avoided. I have to use every fiber of self control I own to not let out the sob that is threatening to escape.

The Peacekeepers escort us to the room where we get to say goodbye, but I realize the only person that would have said their farewell is going with me. Or at least that was what I thought until Gia prances into the room, wallowing in self-satisfaction.

"What are you doing here?" I growl. There are seconds before I will lose my infamous temper. If I don't burst into tears first. But I know that either way, Gia will still be gloating.

"Now, now Clove. Not so hostile." She smirks and I have to summon every ounce of self control I own to not kill her on the spot. "I came to wish you luck. Knowing you, you probably will come back. Even though you would have to kill that precious boyfriend of yours, not that that will be a problem." But she is wrong. Oh, she is so wrong. I can't hurt him. "But even if you don't, Cato probably will, and then you'll be dead. But don't worry, I'll keep him warm at night." My anger burns and I slap her, which is the least violent thing I can think of that fills my need to inflict pain, but it doesn't do even nearly enough damage for me to be satisfied. I want her to suffer. She stumbles backward but to my irritation she doesn't fall. And that smirk can't seem to be slapped off her face.

"Listen, you evil whore." I take a threatening step forward. While Gia's aim is hurting me most with her evil words, my aim is more physical. Like aiming a perfect right-hook to her jaw. But the thought of hurting her doesn't bring me bliss, as it normally would have, instead my heart is only filled with sadness and hurt. And destroying anger. "No matter who dies. One of us will come back and kill you. You have my word. And Cato will never touch a slutty cumdumpster like you. Ever."

She has the courtesy to look amused, and my blood lust is again fueled. "How ironic of you to call _me _evil." She snorts, and her face goes blank. "You killed Mark. You killed the only person I cared about. The only person I _loved. _You're the evil one, Clove. You're the heartless bitch here, not me. I'm only getting my revenge. And I'm enjoying every minute of it."

Normally I take being called evil as a compliment. But normally my viciousness isn't the cause of my heartbreak.

"I hope you come back. Then you can feel how it is to get your love killed." Gia narrows her piercing golden eyes at me, and flings her blonde hair over her slim shoulders. "But killers like you don't have a heart, do they? You're just cold, heartless. But now your life will be falling apart, just as you tore apart mine. And I'll stand on the sideline laughing."

I muster a shadow of my usual sadistic grin. "It pleases me how much it hurt you that I killed your boy-toy, Gia. But you didn't love him. You were the one sleeping around, even when you two were 'together'. You're nothing but a whore."

"You keep saying that. But I'm not the one who got knocked up at fifteen. Who's the whore now?" That was the last straw. I lunge at her, my fist flying to hit her perfect nose, which is now smothered by the imperfection of crookedness. Blood is satisfyingly oozing from her nose and I can't help but give a throaty laugh.

I'm sitting on top of her, pinning her to the ground, my favorite way of catching people. "At least I know my child wouldn't hate me so much it would kill itself before it even came out of my womb." That last jab was another bruise to my heart that isn't working properly. I hit her unconscious, and I would have continued if it hadn't been for the Peacekeepers who came into the room to check the noise of my loud beating.

The only one I recognize is Aaron, a man in his early twenties who seems determined to keep me out of trouble, which is a harder job than he first had thought. Why he always tries to protect me is beyond my comprehension, but he has gotten me out of some pretty bad stuff.

"Clove." he growls softly and lifts me off Gia's unconscious form. "Go and sit on the couch over there." he commands, his voice suggesting relief as I only knocked her out cold, it could have been worse. He has cleaned up much worse messes after me.

I nod, not willing to do anything to come on the Peacekeepers bad sides. I might be completely reckless and impulsive, but I'm not stupid.

But what she said still lingers mercilessly in my mind, driving me slowly insane._ At least I know my child wouldn't hate me so much it would kill itself before it even came out of my womb. _Those words are enough to drive me mad, and call suppressed memories from the back of my mind.

_I feel pain._

_This time it is not the ache in my chest, it is physical. My body is throbbing with pain, my whole being feels like a big bruise. But soon blackness claims me as its toy, and I can't do anything but obey to its dark wishes._

_..._

_The first person I see as I gain consciousness is Cato. His forehead is softly resting on my cheek, and all I can see of him is his dirty-blond hair. He wakes as I blow his hair out of my face. _

"_You're awake." he says, stating the obvious. I look around, and confusion settles as I see the beeping equipment standing at the side of the bed I'm laying in. My head hurts, and with every throb makes me wish I could go back to sleep and never wake up. My nose picks up an awful sterile scent. And I can't help but think that something is seriously wrong._

"_Yeah." I whisper, annoyed my voice isn't working properly. Cato pierces me with his blue eyes as I try to sit up, but soon the dizziness taking over me is too much to bear and I slump back. With my eyes closed I breathe through my nose in slow inhales and exhales, trying to remember what happened._

_Cato is just staring at me. Then he grabs my hand and carefully guides it to my torso. First, I don't know what he is getting at. Then, I get it; I'm feeling different. The fluttering sensation that has had a hold on my abdomen for months, isn't there. I feel normal, and utterly empty. My heart starts to ache even before I comprehend the situation. This can't be good._

"_What happened?" I ask, but my boyfriend's mask stays the same. I decide to formulate the question differently, "Is everything okay?" The panic is building up inside of me and threatening to spill all over the sterile floor._

_An unknown voice breaks the silence Cato created, "You fell down the stairs. Do you remember that? Don't worry if you don't, temporary memory loss is normal after bad concussions." He looks at me with a blank, professional expression. "I'm Dr. Franshot" Comprehension is dawning with every word the doctor utters, but I'm afraid I won't want to hear the rest. "As for the second question," He looks hesitantly at Cato._

_Cato takes over where the doctor stopped, "A miscarriage, Clove." he says and watches me carefully for the reaction. A miscarriage? The word is foreign in my mind, even though I know the definition. _

_Understanding hits me with a slap in the face. The fluttering is gone. The child that had taken residence in my womb, is gone. It is just _gone_._

"_No." I whisper, panic clawing at my insides. And ice filling the place where my baby should be. "No." I say a bit louder, denying the fact that simply can't be true._

_My father chooses that moment to enter the room, barely hidden joy consuming his face. Oh, it is so badly hidden, I can practically see him wallowing in bliss. And in that moment I know he is the one who did it. My father has gotten his rightful revenge, after all these years: I killed his wife, he killed my child._

_There are no words for the emotions washing through my body. Bitter anguish, burning hatred and maddening sadness takes hold of me. Pressing into me so tightly I can't breathe. In a second of blind rage I have jumped from the bed, pulling whatever attached to my arm out. The aim is my father and I get halfway to him before I collapse. If it hadn't been for Cato and his fast reflexes I would have hit the floor._

_I struggle in his arms. I need to see my father's blood spluttered all over the white tiles. I need him to suffer worse than me, if that is even possible. Then I want to bury him while singing the happiest song. And when I'm done I will dance on his grave._

_But even when I'm on my best, I can't get out of Cato's grip, that is tightening around me drastically as I fight back, now I have no chance at all. Though I know it is impossible, my instincts are screaming at me to fight back. And I continue until a needle is stuck into my arm. And I find myself struggling against the blackness instead. But blackness never loses, and I just lost my will to fight. I can feel myself go limp until I can't feel myself at all. _

I find myself subconsciously stroking my abdomen; the place where my baby lived before it got killed. With a sigh I let my hands fall heavily in my lap. I feel a poke of something hard in my arm as I do so, and I remember the thing laying in my pocket: my gift for Cato. I was going to give him this necklace as a token, which is of plain wood and I have carved out perfectly myself. _C + C, _it says. And though it might seem incredibly cheesy it does actually have sort of a meaning to us. Our initials put together that way symbols our invincibility. Together we are invincible.

Slowly I run my finger over the perfectly carved surface. Accuracy has always been one of my specialties, and accuracy with knives most of all. The necklace is like a haunting reminder of what is happening. On how our invincibility is about to be slowly and brutally defeated.

Aaron stays behind as the others carry Gia's limp body out. "Look, Clove." Aaron says, and I look up at him, shoving the necklace down into my pocket again. "I know this must be hard for you. But you have to stay strong. You're the most stubborn being I know, you'll find a way." He sighs lowly. "And if you can't find one, you have to _make_ one, okay?"

I can't do anything but stare at him, like he has gone entirely insane. But if anyone in this room should succumb to insanity, it should be me. Then Aaron catches me off guard with wrapping his arms around me. And to my surprise, I don't pull back. Instead I rest my head on his chest in defeat and let him hold me before I say through gritted teeth, "It's just so unfair." I say, sounding like a little child.

"Life isn't fair." Aaron says and lets me go. Then he walks me out of the room, telling me my time is up. Aaron and a couple other Peacekeepers is escorting us to the train. "You can do this, Clove." is the last thing he says to me. Cameras are flashing everywhere, and I use my last will-power to put on a somewhat confident expression. I let a vicious grin slide over my lips, the cameras go wild, then I make my way into the train.

Inside the closed train door, in the dim light my one and only love stands. The emotions swimming in his eyes rage so fast I can't keep up. Similar to my own mess of feelings, I don't know what I'm feeling. But as I see his eyes settling on pain, I can't help but letting the pain wash over me too.

Leaping into his arms I cling to him with every bit of strength I possess, promising myself that I will never leave.

But I know that promise is soon to be broken.


	2. When Rage Is the Only Option

2.

When Rage Is the Only Option

The fearful moment;

When rage is the only option

Slowly, it consumes your heart

Violently, it tears you apart

* * *

><p>"<em>Can I be the only hope for you? Because you're the only hope for me. And if we can't find where we belong, we'll have to make it on our own. Face all the pain and take it on. Because the only hope for me is you alone." The Only Hope For Me Is You, My Chemical Romance <em>

* * *

><p>"This was not supposed to happen." he whispers fiercely in my ear. His voice raw with pain and disbelief. "It isn't supposed to be happening." His voice increases in volume as each word escapes his lips.<p>

It feels so unreal. Right now, when I'm standing in his arms listening to his prominent heartbeat, I can't help but think that it is something I'm imagining. I'm safe, and so is he. We can't be arriving mine or his certain death. We are very much alive, and I intend to keep it that way.

Low voices is to be heard down the narrow hallway of the train, they grow in volume as I hear footsteps coming closer. One of those voices I can, unfortunately, identify: my daughter-hating father. Of course, being that he will be Cato's mentor.

Cato and I tear away from each other just in time for the mentors to appear. The woman that arrived at my father's side I recognize as Enobaria, one of the most famous females of our district's victor population, being that she tore open a foe's throat with her teeth. After her games she got them shaped into sharp pinpoints to bathe in the fame of her victorious slaughter. She flashes her teeth to both Cato and I when she smiles and nods approvingly as she eyes us up and down.

"Great. You two don't look too bad." I meet her gaze as it lingers on me. "In fact, we might actually have another winner this year." Her words burn into my heart like wild fire in dry grass. _Winner. _Singular, not plural.

My father is glaring at me with his usual scowl. His scowl promises no good. Though he is the victor most sufficient to mentor he hates Cato almost just as much as he hates me. But his pride stands in the way of letting personal business smother his good reputation in bringing home victors.

I glare back at him. The hatred burning deeply within me is just waiting to be unleashed. He does _not _want to be there when it happens. My hatred is carefully wrapped into a blank expression, but I have to knot my hands into fists to keep them from shaking in rage.

The four of us eye each other suspiciously. Four easily angered people -two of them is in an unbearable state of pain and shock- do not go well together. At all. But a bubbly form of Capitol cheeriness interrupts the building tension in the air. Oceana makes us come with her and the mentors is left behind, talking in low voices.

Oceana shows us our room but I know I will end up in Cato's anyway. She tells me dinner is in about an hour and that I will have to get ready and dress in something nice. But I think her definition of nice is very much different from mine.

The room is surprisingly large, I mean, it is a train. The luxury provided to pleasure me through the last days of my life does nothing to ease the knot of sickening emotions in my gut. No matter what happens I will die. Not necessarily literally. But my life as I know it -and trust me, I love my life- will end if the only person insane enough to love me dies.

I don't know why, but whenever something upsets me -in this case, the biggest understatement ever- I think I can just shower the pain away. Like the hot water will wash all my despair, all my anguish down the drain. Even though I know it can't, I can't help but give into the urge and I find myself standing below the warm stream.

But still, unwelcome thoughts invade my mind, pushing against my sanity and all I can do is to shut them out with memories of the past.

"_I hate you!" _

_When I was little those words were enough to shatter my heart. But as I grew up my heart hardene, and his poisonous words couldn't hurt me anymore. But still, whenever he lays on the couch, screaming at me in his drunken state I can't help but feel empty. _

"_I loved her so much!" he screams as he clutches his bottle for his dear life. "And you took her away from me! You killed her!" _

_I sigh, a sad rumble in my throat. "I know. You've told me so many times! I know!" My voice grows louder and louder until I'm screaming like him._

_My father hates me and I've learned not to care. But the fact that I killed my mother is despicable. I hate myself for it and I hate my father more for reminding me._

"_Why?" I yell at him. "Why am I living with you? Why are you training me for the Games? If you hate me so much, why?" _

_He looks at me though he has problems focusing his eyes. Silence surrounds us for a long time before he finally slurs, "It's simple, really." He takes a sip of his bottle. A mean tone taking over his previous screaming. "I promised her-" My mother. "-I would take care of you. I'm not anything if not a man of my word, _Clove_." He pronounces my name like it has the bitterest taste, like it is too much for his tongue to handle. "It's in your blood to win the Games. That's why." Another sip of his alcoholic beverage. "You know, I won't let you make us to laughter." His cruel, emotionless laugh echos through the room._

_Then, my alcoholic father downs the last of his bottle and passes out. _

A soft knock on the door wakes me from the awful memory. "Clove, are you still showering?" Cato says, his voice muffled by the door separating us and the running water.

"Yes." I answer as Cato opens the door and steps inside, a faint smile plastered on his face. His smile is a cover-up of the emotions that are threatening to boil over, just as his expression is blank. He is keeping it inside. And I have no doubt that the reason he is doing it is because of me, because I'm the one most qualified to snap of us.

Casually he leans against the vanity while crossing his arms over his broad chest, his muscles bulging with the motion. His gaze carefully lingers on me as I watch him through the shower cabinet of glass. Dew is clinging to the glass, concealing my naked body from him. But the fogginess stops just at my neck and I can still see every effort of keeping his face blank in his tense jaw and shoulders.

"Will you come out?" The question is really, 'Will you talk to me?'. His beautiful blue eyes pierces me with all their sharpness. Those eyes can make me do anything.

"No." I say, closing my eyes and letting the water enclose me. I slowly open them to see him still watching me.

He raises his eyebrows. "Clove, come on." he warns impatiently.

I stare at him, debating whether or not if I have the courage to leave the safe haven of the warm shower. Eventually I decide that Cato is a much better comfort than a shower will ever be. "Hand me a towel."

There is that smile again. He smiles -something he rarely does. but what makes it so unbearable is that coldness in his eyes. Like he has shut every emotion from his body.

His eyes haven't left me once since he entered the room. And they are still lingering on me as I wrap myself into the towel. I press my lips together to keep the sob that is building up inside. He sees my struggle no matter how hard I try to conceal it. He sees it and wraps his arms around me. Burying my head in his chest I let his familiar form and well-known scent comfort me. I coil my arms tightly around his waist, afraid that if I let go he will just disappear into thin air.

I find myself mumbling his name, just because it gives me the frail assurance I need. He makes me look up at him and what I see in his eyes still scares me. It is not how he usually watches me. His eyes always turns gentle, loving almost. But now they are as empty as the hollow of my chest.

He bends down to kiss my forehead and I close my eyes. "Clove." he sighs deeply, like acceptance is finally settling. He sounds so heartbroken like he already has given up on us. If he gives up my grip on that last straw of hope will slip. I can't let that happen.

I answer his plea of despair with soothing him the only way I know how: crashing my lips against his. He responds greedily, like my kiss is what he needs to survive. Maybe it is. Maybe as long as our lips are locked and our hearts are united we will survive.

Then, we speak no more but the language of kissing. I eventually muster the courage to step away from him long enough to get dressed. But I can't keep him out of my sight. I can't let him disappear on me. Not now. Not ever.

My hair is a black tangled mess of wavy half-dried hair. But except that I look as presentable as I can. I put on that blank expression that seems to be working for Cato and we make our way out.

...

We arrive waaaay to late for dinner in our delightful escort's opinion and Oceana is _not _happy. "Punctuality is important." she scolds. And I'm both jealous and mad at her. Jealous because that is her biggest problem. I wish it was mine. And I'm mad because that is her biggest problem. And although how much I wish it was mine I can't escape the fact that I will be thrown into the Arena with my everything, and only one of us will be getting out. I feel my emotionless mask breaking into one of despair. _Think of something else, Clove._ I quickly focus on the warmth of Cato's knee touching mine under the table. Though the food tastes amazingly it does nothing to lessen my desperation.

The dinner is a never ending stream of words and unfathomable sentences. Oceana talks so much that I'm sure my ears will start bleeding soon. Mostly she talks to herself because when she tries to bring one of us into her one-sided conversation the only thing she receives is a glare or a rude comment. None of us is of the talking kind but she keeps on rambling about everything and nothing. Though annoying, the distraction is welcome.

After a while I notice that Cato's knee is shaking against mine. Shaking with rage. His hand is balled into a fist underneath the table, resting in his lap. I can see it is shaking too. Slowly, careful not to be noticed I reach out for his hand and he takes my hand in his. My thumb tracing soothing patterns over his scar. His shaking soon stops, but the tension in his shoulders remains and I would have given everything for that to be removed.

"Oh my!" Oceana exclaims, checking the expensive-looking watch on her wrist. "The Reapings!" She gestures for us to follow her and with a bit of hesitation from Cato we follow her, along with our mentors.

The girl of District 1 looks like the typical dumb blonde. But the way she has her emotions in check is tactical and I can see that she is more than she wants us to think. Her gaze is steadily trailed on one spot, not on the camera but on a brown-haired man, standing on the very edge of their town-square, holding a child. The man and the child is standing apart from the crowd, making it no doubt that they are the ones she is looking at. The camera zooms in on them, the man looking grim and the child oblivious to the extra attention before it focuses on the girl again. Now she looks straight at the camera with a blinding white smile. Intelligence is definitely hidden by her looks.

Then Cato volunteers, the raw anguish reappearing as it had lessened when my focus was elsewhere. I watch as my name is called and utter shock is to be found on my face. In a moment I look like a might faint but then I get it somewhat together and walk onto stage. My act is confident and the emotions that are lacking from my face makes me look surprisingly Career-like.

The boy from District 11 is almost as big as Cato and definitely our biggest competition. The confident expression he puts on itches under my skin. I want him dead. Now.

And then at last there is the girl of District 12. She volunteered for her sister probably knowing she will soon be entering her certain death. Their district is the main sea of poverty and this girl looks like she is about to drown. Others there already have. But there is something about her that makes me not want to underestimate her. There is something about her but I just can't place my finger on it.

My father and Enobaria leaves without a word, probably to discuss something mentor related. Oceana stays for a while, trying to get us to talk to her which we rudely refuse. Soon she gives up and walks away leaving me alone with Cato.

His gaze is steadily focused on the television which is now sending some tasteless Captiol show. Suddenly he stands up and as I am about to follow him he says, "I need to be alone."

Panic claws at my intestines with the thought of having him out of sight. But I know his need to be alone is an excuse to not allow me to be present as his most hostile feelings are let out. I let him go, knowing that he will need me later to assure him everything will be fine. Even though I don't believe it myself.

The ridiculous show on the television is surprisingly soothing. Another distraction to keep myself from succumbing into the insanity that I know soon will be embracing me. Especially as Cato isn't here I have no one to keep my thoughts from wavering all over the place. I hug my knees tightly against my chest and let my chin rest on them. Like the tighter I hold, the less the possibility for me to fall apart is.

A deep rumble of a roar pierces the air like a knife and I immediately know the source of the loud sound. Hurriedly I leap onto the floor and run to his room. Outside of the door my father and Oceana stands but as soon as I come into sight he grabs Oceana by her wrist and drags her with him.

Without hesitation I enter his room knowing what I will find won't be pretty. It isn't. The most damage has been done to the walls. Those are what he usually takes all his anger out on. The walls are pretty solid but a couple places they have dented and they are smeared with blood. Cato's blood.

"Cato." I begin and he whirls around, a look of madness in his eyes. He is panting heavily, his chest heaving and dropping with each breath and he is standing in his ready-to-attack stance. A spark of recognition flames in his eyes through his angry fog and he whirls around again and hits the wall with knuckle-breaking force.

Just as he is about to repeat the action I leap forward and grab a hold of his arm. His muscles tenses beneath my touch and even though I'm holding him back with all my strength I know he can still easily tear free. But he doesn't and we stand still for the slightest second before he spins us around and lifts me up before slamming my back into the wall, lifting me so high that I find myself looking down at him.

It doesn't particularly hurt and I know he won't hurt me intentionally. But I hate seeing him like this. Almost angered to insanity. "Cato." I plead. "Please." His mad gaze softens but anger does not seem to report its departure. He is still panting heavily. "It will be fine."

"No!" he roars so loudly that I'm sure my eardrums are about to burst. And I have to clench my teeth to keep from flinching as the sound pierces the air. "It won't be, Clove. Don't you see? It won't be! I'll lose you. I can't lose you." I look down at him and feel every bit of pain, anguish, despair and anger he is experiencing.

"You won't lose me." I whisper. "You won't, just please let me down." I'm still not afraid of him but the way his heartbreak is visible outside of his body is just too unbearable for me to handle.

"You don't understand. It's my fault! I _volunteered._"

I shake my head and all I can do is to keep the tears blurring my vision from falling. I can't cry, I have to stay strong for him, like he has for me so many times. But it is hard when I feel like smashing the walls myself. "It's not your fault. You didn't know I was going to get drawn."

"This can't be happening." he whispers and closes his eyes. I wrap my legs around him and coil one arm around his neck while I rest my other hand on his cheek. Slowly, I kiss his forehead barely brushing my lip against his smooth skin. Trying to convey the sense of calmness I can't possess.

His arms sneaks around my waist holding me so close I can barely breathe. But I don't care, because I can't get enough of him. He loosens his grip a little to lower me for our faces to be at the same height. Our lips meet slowly and I can taste the bitter desperation and furious sorrow in our kiss.

The kiss deepens and I can feel his need. His lips moves against mine greedily, his stubbly unshaven chin feels rough against my own smooth skin and he slams me against the wall again. Both of my hands find their way into his dirty-blond tangled hair and I force his mouth harder on mine. One of his hands finds its way up my shirt, ripping it apart. The next to be ruined is my bra, but I couldn't care less. Right now I need him just as much as he needs me.

We deal with our anger the only way we know how. And we deal against the wall. My lower back slamming into it with every needy motion. In the end I collapse over him in guilty pleasure, letting him carry me to the bed.

We slump together entangled in each others sweaty limbs, both of us heavily panting. He kisses my temple and we slip under the covers. He slides his arm around me and brings me closer until I'm resting my head on his chest, listening to his fast heartbeat.

"You won't lose me." I whisper. "I promise." But we both know keeping that promise won't be up to me.

"Baby." he breathes, running his hand up and down my arm in a calming pattern. Familiarity is our only comfort.

"We'll find a way." I say. Trying to sound convincing enough for us both to believe it. Having faith is our only refuge. "If not, we'll make one." I say, cleverly stealing Aaron's words.

"We'll find a way." he repeats hesitantly. Like believing my words might come back and bite him in the ass later. I nod my head and feel his abs under my fingers as my arms snakes around him. But even though I almost managed to soothe him the truth still hangs on my shoulder like a burden known to no man. And that burden won't be released until we both have planted our feet on District 2 ground, safe and sound.

I want to say something to make us both feel better. But the only thing I can think of won't be let off my tongue. I want to say those three words and tell him how much I love him. None of us have ever dared utter those words before. But they always have hung in the air around us. _I love you. _Only three small words. But so are _scared as hell, _too_. _I'm scared of what might happen if I utter them. I'm scared they might do more damage than good. But most of all I'm scared that they aren't really true. I'm a monster. And I'm pretty sure monsters aren't capable of feeling love.

The concept of love is pretty foreign in District 2.

As I reflect on the least painful and confusing facts in my life right now a soft knock is to be heard on the door. "Is everything okay in there?" Oceana's squeaky voice asks. And I come to think that I may have forgotten to lock the door and that only an unlocked door separates Oceana from me and my boyfriend laying naked in his bed. Not the most convenient situation.

I stick a finger into his side urging him to answer. After all, we are in his room. And I do _not _want that stuck up little Capitol puppet gossiping about us. Privacy is something I cherish.

"Ow.." Cato says as I poke him. "Yes, everything's great." he says. And I have to give him credit for sounding so convincing. It is unfair really, how he has his way with people. How he has them wrapped around his little finger with the simplest of words. I always have to use fear and Cato often practices it too. Because who are we kidding? It is the most fun way to do things. But certain cases are in need of discretion.

"Oh, good!" She pauses but does nothing to leave. "Ehm... Are there any _damages _in there. Anything I will have to get an Avox to clean up?"

"No, I'm good." Cato says, and I hold my breath until the clicking of her shoes disappear. Then I jump up to lock the door before making my way to Cato again. He watches me intently as I walk back to him again enclosing me in his embrace as I lay down. I turn in his embrace to lay with my back to him and his body curls around mine protectively.

As he starts to doze off I know I can let the tears burning my vision free. They run down my cheeks and I'm careful not to make any sound to wake him. If he sees me cry it will only increase his sorrow. For once, I will be the strong one. But it is easier said than done as I'm sure my heart falls deeper and deeper into the abyss of heartbreak with every second that passes.


	3. When Determination Hits

3.

When Determination Hits

The powerful sensation;

When determination hits

If you decide to fight

You have to do it right

* * *

><p>"<em>This man's gonna be my death. 'Cause he's all I've ever wanted in my life." Shalott, Emilie Autumn<em>

* * *

><p>"We'll reach the Capitol in about an hour. And Clove, I know you're in there; don't be late." the shrill voice of our escort yells. Even though her voice is muffled by the door, we can't seem to escape the ear-shattering shrillness of it.<p>

A soft groan is to be heard from Cato who awoke of Oceana's rather unpleasant voice. With a yawn he says, "We're busted." And I grit my teeth against the annoyance. Then, after another tired yawn, "You better shower. You reek off me."

"Relax, you don't smell that bad." And he actually cracks a faint grin at my joke. "Shower with me?" I ask him. My voice serious. I don't give a shit if I seem clingy but due to the circumstances I get to be as clingy as I want.

"Sure, babe." he grunts letting me tug him along. As we enter the bathroom -identical to mine- and I turn on the light Cato suddenly stops dead in his tracks. I look at him quizzically, but all he does is reaching out for my arm. He holds my upper arm gently in his hand for inspection. And I frown when I see what he is so stunned about: a purple bruise, formed after his fingers. He narrows his eyes at the bruise, as if he can make it go away by just glaring intensely enough at it.

"It's not like you haven't given me bruises before." I say slowly, carefully eyeing him. It is nothing. Cato can be a little _rough _sometimes. Not that I mind, but I know -even though he would never admit it- he hates the bruises he makes on me.

He looks at me with an expression I can't identify, gesturing for me to turn around and I know he will inspect my lower back. I don't turn. "It's _fine._" I hiss at him. And as I utter those words he grabs my chin forcefully, digging his fingers into the hollow of my cheeks and forces me to look him in the eye.

"I don't have any control when I'm angry, Clove." he says darkly. His face serious, his voice cold and his eyes flashing wildly. "What if I hurt you so badly you..." he trails off. "Fuck, what if I accidentally _kill _you, Clove?" His voice is a low desperate growl. He won't, I know he won't. He is better at controlling his temper than me and even I can control myself enough to not kill him. What would I do if I ever did?

Trying to shake my head I realize his grip is too tight to allow any kind of motion. "I can protect myself, Cato." I spit at him. "I'm not a little girl anymore."

He looks at me for the longest time and just as I figure he isn't going to say anything a shark-grin slowly creeps onto his face and he says, "You will always be my little girl." And I scowl at him, both at his possessiveness and the fact that he calls me his _little _girl_. _I give a short snort of annoyance and his taunting smirk grows wider. He eventually lets go of my head.

As I turn toward the shower a sharp but low intake of breath escapes him. "It's _bad_." he says as he sees my lower back. I sneak a peek in the mirror. Wow, it is purple.. But except from the fact that it is a little sore, I don't feel it.

"It's _fine_." I say and tug at his hand, "Come on, you big wimp."

He grabs my hand roughly and whirls me around, forcing me to face him as he -again- uses his one hand to keep my head in place. I'm completely paralyzed. "A wimp can't break your neck in the matter of seconds, babe." he says in a voice that sounds a lot like a snarl, gently squeezing my neck. It doesn't hurt -of course- but he squeezing enough for it to be uncomfortable. He isn't angry with me, just simply stating his point. "I'm _not _a wimp."

I smirk at him knowingly -I know _exactly _how to get under his skin- and he eases the faint pressure on my throat. "Then stop acting like one. You don't need to worry about me Cato. I'm fine. I'm always _fine_. Worrying about me distracts you and you can't afford to be distracted." He searches my eyes but I'm not quite sure what he is looking for. "I'm Clove Cavia and you're Cato Merquen. We're Careers and we know how to watch out for ourselves."

He grumbles something incomprehensible and lets go of me. We both know for a fact that I'm _always_ right.

...

After showering and getting dressed I sit beside him eating breakfast. Both Oceana and Enobaria are there, while my father I know -though it remains unsaid- is sleeping off the alcohol. He has been addicted for years now.

Enobaria clears her throat. "We'll reach the Capitol soon." she says. And it is just then my seemingly indifferent father decides to groggily walk in. He sits down with his eyes half-closed and orders a coffee from one of the Avoxes standing around. "And you both need to be on your best behavior." Enobaria continues, unfazed by my father's sudden appearance. "There will be no misbehaving, no outbursts of anger. You both need to keep your tempers in check," She looks pointedly at Cato, as she has not seen my anger unleash itself yet. I have no doubt it will soon though. I never was known for keeping it all bottled up inside. "and be polite. That's how you'll get the most sponsors."

Both Cato and I nod, it seems reasonable enough. Enobaria sighs. "Look, all three of us know that there is something going on between the two of you, and-"

"It has to stop." my father cuts in. "Whether you like it or not, you're both going into the Arena together. Only one of you will survive, only one will win. And that would be the one that is strong enough to separate him- or herself from the heart. Both of you have the chance to win, being that you both have trained for this all your lives. But it won't do any good if you don't kill the enemy. And the second you volunteered," He nods at Cato. "and you got drawn," He nods at me. "was the second you both became enemies."

That is definitely the longest speech I have ever heard my father hold. And the words cut through me like my sharp and beloved knives, leaving wide open gashes for blood to gush from. Though this time it is the truth, he still enjoys how it hurts me and I want to say something just as hurtfully back. But my face has frozen in a grimace that won't loosen and I can't find my voice. His words are like a tsunami, slamming into me with deadly force and enclosing me in a wall of water; drowning me until I can't breathe.

Even Enobaria seems utterly shocked by his direct phrasing and scowls at him. "Will you be couched separately or together?" she says, quickly changing the subject. I notice Cato having a hard time tearing the glare of death from my father and I sneak my hand beneath the table to cover the one he has placed in his lap. His gaze wavers over and lingers on me, his eyes softening noticeably.

"Together." he says and I nod in agreement.

"Great," Enobaria says with little enthusiasm -sarcastically-, but I don't blame her. Mentoring must be hard enough without the tributes' personal drama on top.

"Fools." my father mutters. And I can't help but think that this is what happened with him and my mother, to a certain extent anyway. My mother died, leaving my father with a broken heart and two children. One who was the cause of her death, the other whom later died.

What if I hadn't miscarried though? What if I have had a child right now, where would it be? With both parents reaped for the Games. The thought scares me even more than the thought of going to the Arena with Cato. Or not really that thought alone, but the thought of a child who is half me, half Cato. A child that is _o__ur _baby.

"Now that's cleared up," Enobaria says. "I don't think you should appear as a couple. People will think of it as a sign of weakness. And you can't afford to seem weak."

My jaw drops as I realize what she is saying. No, I can't hide what I feel for him. I just can't. It will ruin me. "What?" Not only will they force us to fight in the Games, that which only one of us can survive, they are going to force us to hide the fact that we won't kill each other while doing it.

"You two need to fight. To give them the best Games they ever had. You need to do something memorable, you need to be remembered. Play it good and it will pay off."

And I don't know what the pay off will be but neither do I care. Nothing can change the fact that my life is being torn apart, one string at the time. Nothing can make that fact better. So why can't we live the rest of our lives to the fullest?

Cato nods in slight agreement and fury wells up in me. "What?" I repeat, the cold effort of restraining anger in that word failing miserably. Cato squeezes my hand and looks at me with a look of desperation. I can almost hear him thinking, _I'll tell you later._

Soothed by this fake sense of comfort I relax in my seat. But relaxation won't quite come. "Is this," I hesitate the slightest to find the right words and to stop the ones of profanity to escape. "the only strategy we have? Is this the only way?"

"For now, it is." Enobaria says, her face devoid of any emotion. I nod, a ragged breath -sounding almost like a sob- finding its way out. All eyes comes to rest on me, weighing me with the intensity.

I nod once more, "Okay." A strategy makes everything clearer but yet so unclear. What I have to do and what I want to do is conflicting. And I know choosing either one will drive me mad. But the question is: which madness is the one I can handle?

We finish breakfast and my man and I stroll into my room to watch as we arrive the infamous Capitol. I can see the outline of the city as the train races closer and closer its destination. Cato embraces me from behind and I lean back into him with a sigh.

"She's right." Cato says, his voice his usual cold tone as he finally has gained enough control to act more like himself.

"Who is?" I say, even though I know. But I don't want it to be true. I don't want any of this to be true. _But it is, _a traitorous voice whispers, the one hidden in my mind. _It is._

"Enobaria." He tightens his arms around me. "We have to fight, Clove. We have to give them the best Games they ever had." The Capitol is looming ahead and I find a distraction in the brilliant lights. A distraction from reality that soon will hit me with the greatest force. "Remember you said we would find a way? And if we didn't find one, we had to make one? This is our way, babe. This is the way we have to make. And though it will be hard, we have to. We have to, if not-" He stops abruptly as if uttering those next words will take too much of him. And maybe it will, because those words are exactly the ones I dread with my whole being.

"Cato." I murmur as I turn in his embrace. He looks at me but instead of his usual hostile or taunting expression he looks at me with sorrowful eyes and I would give everything to see it erased. Sliding my hand up his chest I reach for his neck while standing up on my toes to get a taste of his lips. He sees my need and meets me halfway. Our lips connecting in the only way of comfort we know.

"You agree then." he states gruffly, eyeing me carefully. I'm still coiled in his arms, with no plans of leaving.

I nod. "We'll survive this." I say, and in that brief moment I actually believe it. Before cold reality washes over me. I can't believe it before I'm standing beside him in the Arena and Claudius Templesmith announces us as winners. Which I know is too good to be true.

I turn to see that we are arriving the _perfect_ city. The buildings are even more threatening up close and their presence weighs down on me; I can't quite breathe. They are mocking me, it is like they are saying, "We're looking forward to see you get killed, Clove."

Even though I'm grasping at the last hope in our strategy, I can't help but think how many chances it has to fail. And then I know I will give my life for his. I can't live without Cato. He is a part of me -the good part- and I would rather die than have that piece ripped away.

Living without him is _not_ an option.

...

District 2 gets Floor 2. Easy to remember.

Oceana and Enobaria are in the rather large glass elevator with us. While my father is off doing whatever. Whatever which much likely includes drinking, being that it is his favorite thing to do. Except from killing his grandchildren that is, he really enjoys that too. But hopefully he has passed out somewhere and isn't coming back for a while. The less I see of him the better.

When I walk out of the elevator someone -a strong someone- grabs my arm and yanks me into the corner of the hallway. Instinctively I reach for my knives which usually are hidden inside my jacket, but since they don't allow us to carry weapons they have been removed, much to my dismay. As they removed the knife I always carry with me as I came inside the Training Center I felt like a part of my soul was being ripped away from me. My knives are as much a part of me as Cato is.

"Relax, Clove. It's just me." Enobaria says, flashing those sharp pinpoints of teeth. I nod my head to Cato -who stopped as I got dragged into the shadows- to give him a signal to go ahead.

Swiftly I look back at Enobaria with a glare. "Don't sneak up on me. If I have had a knife, you'd be dead." Which is true. My first instinct whenever an unfamiliar someone touches me -yet alone drags me- is to take my knife and kill them, or at least majorly injure them.

She grins faintly. "You don't think I'm that defenseless, do you?"

"What do you want?" I ask quite rudely. And I remember I'm _supposed _to respect her. And I do to a certain extent, but I can't just bring myself to threat her like someone superior. No one is superior to me. _No one._

Her grin fades and a look of seriousness takes its place. "Come with me." she says. I'm about to protest as she tells me it is important. Eventually I agree to follow her and she leads me to the roof.

The city looks even more dazzling from above. And as I look down at the ground far down below uneasiness settles in the pit of my stomach. I'm not scared of heights but I can't really say I am a big fan. "Don't worry." Enobaria says. "You can't fall." I look at her questioningly. "There are force fields down there," she says and gestures toward the ground. "which would throw you right back up. I guess they are there because of suicidal tributes." She shrugs and a creepy feeling washes over me. A feeling of being locked up and the thought of no escape chills my spine. Not that I plan on committing suicide but that the option isn't even there scares me.

We stand there in silence before she catches me of guard with a question I wasn't expecting. At all. "You love him, don't you?" And I know she means Cato, I mean, there aren't anyone else in my life who could possibly qualify in the category of 'Who Clove loves'. But rather the majority belongs in the 'Who Clove wants to kill' category.

"Wha-at?" Cato is my everything. I know I care for him deeply, enough to not want to kill him. But love? I'm not sure if that word is in my vocabulary. _Love is weak, _a voice in the back of my head whispers. Clove Cavia is a monster, and monsters can't _love._ Monsters aren't capable of love.

"You love him, I can tell." she says. She crosses her arms over her chest in a firm suggestion of truth.

"How?" I ask. I've never been one of the good girls. I never let anybody know my feelings, except my burning rage that is and my thirst for blood. But love is a word for the weak and Clove Cavia has never been associated as weak.

Enobaria laughs a miserable laugh. "It may come as a shock to you, but I have actually been in love before, Clove." She continues after a swift pause. "I was so in love with this guy, I would've done anything for him." Even though I can see the truth in her eyes, it does, indeed, shock me. Who would have thought the seemingly heartless Enobaria ever loved? I can't help but wonder who the great guy was that my mentor fell for. My mentor that has a note-worthy reputation of being cruel in our district. But I guess even bad girls feel. Just look at me, I'm the perfect example.

"His name was Cathal Lock," she continues, and I can't help but notice the past tense. _Was, _as in isn't here anymore. "and he was reaped the same year as I." She looks me straight in the eye and I know she knows what is building up inside me. She has felt the same way. But hope for the outcome remains in the dark. Cathal Lock obviously died in the Games and my future is not looking so bright right now.

"What happened?" I ask, dark curiosity gets the best of me.

"He got killed." she states emptily. So much I had figured out. "We fought side by side, but then an unseen attacker came out of nowhere, there was nothing I could do." I can see the effort of keeping her face blank but somehow all the brokenness seeps into her voice. "He struck Cathal with a sword trough the heart. He was gone before I could do anything." She looks away, probably fighting off the distant memories and feelings of hurt that comes with reliving past memories which should be suppressed. "I was so mad, so furious I tore the attacker's throat open with my bare teeth. But that wasn't revenge enough."

"What did you do?"

"I won. It was the only thing Cathal wanted for me. I had promised him to go on and live if something was to happen to him." She shudders, if it is the memory or the cold I don't know. "But it's hard carrying on after a loss like that, you know. It tears you apart."

"It's already tearing me apart." I intend for my voice to come out strong but it escapes in a weak whisper.

She nods. "Just promise me you'll both play it good. Charm the Capitol. Entwine them around your fingers. Make them love you. The people here may seem dumb but if it's something they can't stand it's their favorite tributes dying." Even though it is the only comfort I can get it is so frail that I'm afraid if I lean on it too much it will break. "I know you won't kill him. I can see it. You two have been through a lot, haven't you?"

"I guess we have." I say, wondering what she is referring to. It can be a lot but I think one incident in particular is the one she is aiming at: my unplanned pregnancy. The whole district know about my tragic miscarriage. Rumors travels faster than fire in dry grass.

Silence surrounds us and the sounds from far below us becomes more prominent. "Did it ever become easier?" I ask eventually.

The corners of her mouth quirks up a bit in faint, broken amusement. "Yes, it did. After a while."

I'm afraid. I'm afraid of suffering the same faith as her. Of losing everything. Of losing myself. I hate feeling scared. It is just so damn weak.

A sharp sound pierces the air and I can't help but jump as the noise startles me. Enobaria fishes a cellphone from her pocket and looks at it, frowning. "I have to go. Important meeting." she says. "Your fight for survival starts now, Clove. More important; your fight for both your survival. Any weapon is allowed, but choose wisely. One wrong choice and it's game over." Her words leave me with a strange mix of hope and despair.

Trust me, I will fight.


	4. When Alcohol Is the Only Escape

4.

When Alcohol Is the Only Escape

The faint memory;

When alcohol is the only escape

Memories make you shriek

Remember; fleeing is weak

* * *

><p>"<em>I never told you I needed you, darling. Like a rose needs the rain. Then how could you possibly know how much?" Ever, Emilie Autumn<em>

* * *

><p>Dread settles in me as I find Cato laying in the hallway, bottles of alcoholic beverages surrounding him. He is drunk. And he must have drunk <em>a lot. <em>Alcohol doesn't affect him often, being that he is bigger than most and that he knows how to control his drinking. He never gets shitfaced unless it is something really bothering him. But of course there is something bothering him.

I sigh, I should have seen this coming. He always turns to the bottle whenever he has a hard time. Drowning his misery in desperate mouthfuls of alcohol. He isn't himself when he is drunk, and every move he makes is unpredictable. And I hate how it is affecting him.

"Cato, wake up." I say and bend down to shake his arm. He doesn't move and another sigh finds its way out of my lips. I slap him across the face -not too gently- and he leaps onto his feet in matter of seconds.

As soon as he sees the assaulter he relaxes and touches his face gingerly where I slapped him. "Ouch." he says. His eyes can't seem to focus on me as they waver across the room and he shakily leans against the wall for support.

"This is not a good time to be drunk, Cato." I say grimly. His gaze is still spinning and I can see he has trouble looking straight at me.

"I'm not drunk." he slurs, and makes a final effort in standing still. Eventually he gives up and sits down heavily on the floor in defeat.

"Not at all." I say sarcastically while sitting down beside him. "You aren't doing that well, huh?" I say, a softer tone creeping into my otherwise so cold voice.

"You think?" No, I don't. I know he isn't doing well. Neither of us are. But I know we need to keep our heads clear to fight. But I also know how comforting the veil of alcohol is. How it has the power to make you forget, and right now forgetting is exactly what I want. Forgetting about the Games and about how Cato and I will have to kill each other. I _need _to forget.

I reach out for his bottle and he narrows his eyes at me. "Just a sip." I say, and he unwillingly, hands it over. The alcohol burns in my throat and I almost choke on the bitter taste. No matter how many times I have drunk I still can't get used to the burning sensation.

I'm not really aware of my actions as I throw the bottle into the wall, splintering it in tiny pieces. But I know it is for the best. We can't afford this. The thought of losing the battle of our lives just because of the weak and short comfort of alcohol gets my thoughts on better tracks.

Cato glares at me as it was his last bottle I threw. "I'm not the only one who turns to alcohol." he says accusingly. And I know he is aiming for something else than my moment of weakness. I even know what: the alcoholic period of my life.

_I'm changing in between being conscious and not. The whole world is just a blur of swirling colors and different shapes. The only somewhat clear thing I see is the bottle of beer in my hand. Or __is it wine? I don't remember. A happy sigh escapes me as the buzzing in my head doesn't allow me to remember anything at all. It is a freeing feeling to get away from pain and sorrow._

_A blurring movement takes place in front of me causing me to blink to clear my sight. My sight increases only slightly but enough to know who is standing in front of me. A sighs escapes my man as he sees my ...condition. That must be the word for it._

"_Hey." he says softly and I narrow my eyes at him. He is going to try and sober me up, but I won't let him. I'm going to spend the rest of my pathetic life in this happy fog. In this fake but yet so comforting reality. It sure beats my own._

_When I don't respond he mutters something about keeping me from alcohol and scoops me up in his arms. I gasp as the motion makes me dizzy. "No." I say weakly, swatting lazily at his chest. "Put me down."_

"_No way." Cato growls at me. He starts walking and I have to shut my eyes firmly closed to keep my head from spinning. But no such luck, the dizziness I feel won't go away and I whimper slightly as I'm not sure if I can hold on my stomach's content anymore._

"_Why not?" I whine. He stares at me with an expression which reminds me of pain mixed with anger. But what do I know? After all, I'm drunk. But still, even in my foggy brain I can see what I have done to him. What I did to us both. How my carelessness brought us both this pointless sorrow. This sorrow we are taught not to feel, but yet it consumes us without mercy._

"_You're drunk." _

"_What makes you think that?" I ask with my usual stubbornness. But the weak lie dangles threateningly low over the pool of already exposed lies. And as I gasp -trying desperately not to throw up the acid content of my stomach- the lie falls too deeply in for anyone's rescue. _

_He still stares at me, "Don't do this, Clove." Instead of continuing to fight him I rest my head on his chest in defeat. Sighing as the throbbing in my head gets louder._

"_Don't do what?" I ask tiredly, even though I kind of know what he is getting at._

"_Don't get drunk to escape reality." And I realize that this is hard on him too. I'm not the only one who lost a child, the child was Cato's too. He is hurting, and I'm too selfish to realize he needs me. And just to keep his manhood he just has to throw in a maddening comment, "Don't run away from what's happening. Running is weak, Clove. Fucking weak."_

"_I'm not weak, Cato." I say in a pathetic attempt of my usual snarling, but it only comes out in a weak slur._

"_Then fight, Clove. I know losing the baby made you sad. But we're _Careers, _we aren't supposed to feel. You need to stop hiding and start fucking fighting!"_

"_I'm trying." I slur. "I just don't know how, okay? I don't fucking know how."_

"_Then figure it out." he says, his mouth in a thin line and his eyes serious. "We're born to win the Games, Clove. You can't let emotions distract you."_

_But he knows just as well as I that my emotions is something I have no control over what so ever._

"We can't afford this, Cato." I say. "We can't do this right now. We should be focusing on how to survive. _Not _drowning our sorrows in alcohol."

He grunts something incomprehensible. With a sigh I bend down to help him up. He staggers unwillingly onto his feet, probably recalling still in his intoxicated brain that he is far too heavy for me to lift. Stumbling in his feet Cato manages to walk but his sense of direction has left for the night and set me in its place. I guide him to his room where I dump him in bed.

When I try to leave Cato grips my arm tightly. "Don't leave." he slurs. He pulls at my arm and draws me against him roughly causing my lips to crush against his. He turns us over and forces me into the bed, holding me beneath him. I can taste the alcohol in our kiss, like a bitter reminder of the reason we both drank. The reason Cato is too drunk to be in his right mind.

This is not my Cato. My Cato is brutal and reckless indeed. But this Cato is that and something more. When he is drunk he doesn't care for me the same way. It is like alcohol kicks out the little care he has got in his body. I hate how this brute isn't how he is usually brutal against me. He likes to be rough, but there is always a certain care behind his actions. That care is gone.

"Stop it, Cato." I tell him, trying to wiggle out from beneath him, but he has me trapped. "Cato." I hiss. And a cold laugh escapes him, that cold sadistic laugh I know from when we kill together. His hand roams my body roughly. Usually I love when he does that, but not now. Now his touch is so uncaring, so _wrong. _

He doesn't stop and I slap him for the second time in the past thirty minutes. "Ow." he grunts. And as he checks his face for any damage I slip out from beneath him, he doesn't react fast enough to keep me there. "What the hell, Clove?" he slurs, almost incomprehensibly. Though I understand what he is saying, his words are blurry.

"No. You don't get to say that. I'm the one who gets to 'what the hell' you. Not the other way around." I look at him, seething with anger. How fucking dare he?

He looks at me with his mouth set in a straight line, but his eyes shining at me. Almost like mockery. "You're mine, Clove. I get to have you whenever I want." I narrow my eyes at him as his usual possessiveness sounds even more ridiculous when he is drunk. "You're mine to play with, my _toy. _You're just my little _play-toy, _and now I want to play." he spits and reaches out for me again but I jerk away.

Those words makes my blood boil. Is that everything I am to him? His fucking _toy_? A toy he can just throw away when he gets bored? "This is why I hate it when you drink." I hiss at him. "You turn into a fucking asshole."

"Bitch." he slurs tiredly, but I still has that determined spark of mockery in his eyes. "Come here, princess. Let me play with you." And there is that word again. _Play. _I'm not a fucking doll he can boss around. I'm not his little whore. Suddenly his arms fly toward me and I don't react fast enough to jump away. He wraps his hands around my wrists and I know that if I fight back he will snap my arms like some fucking twigs. He traps me beneath his large body, making it impossible for me to flee. I look up into his eyes -those beautiful blue eyes-, searching for the real Cato. But it seems like the real Cato got overpowered by alcohol.

He stops for the slightest two seconds and stares back into my eyes but soon the blank expression on his handsome face turns into an expression of mockery. "Are you trying to fight me, princess?" he whispers cruelly as I struggle beneath him. "You can't fight me."

I growl at him and his hand finds its way under my t-shirt before suddenly violently tearing it apart. Next goes my bra and my upper-body is completely exposed for him to see. "Cato, if you don't stop now I swear I'm gonna make your life a living hell." I hiss.

"Shut it, angel." he snarls. "Just lay still." He forces his hand into my pants, brutally parting my legs as he does so. His fingers fumble around a little before they eventually find their way inside and I give a low grunt of pain-filled pleasure. No matter if he is too drunk to be in his right mind. He is still my Cato and his body against mine sets fire to my skin.

Eventually I give up fighting him off and just lay there, letting him have his way. And when he is done I'm sure there will be bruises all over my body. And I'm so angry with him. Not for forcing me to have sex with him; that part I don't really mind. But for thinking that I'm nothing else than a fucking toy he can play with whenever he wants.

Cato has passed out and is snoring softly, I on the other hand lay naked beside him in bed, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. He is such an asshole. A fucking prick. My prick indeed, but a prick none the less.

I shakily get out of bed, searching for his t-shirt. When I find it I pull it over my head, glare at Cato one last time where he lays naked and snoring in bed and make my way to my own room to change as he ripped my clothes apart.

With a new type of anger burning within I try to find where the dinner is at. After some trouble and a couple of attempts that failed, I finally find the food. Though I'm happy I found it -I am definitely hungry- and though the food is delicious and in every taste I would ever want, it still does nothing to extinguish the rage unfurling in my chest. Especially when our annoying escort is the only other who has shown up and is doing everything she can to annoy me. She pokes in my fury with her perfectly painted nails and I'm sure she soon will push me over the edge that I always stand too close to for everyone's well-being. Not that I care about other's well-being. But still..

Her high-pitched squeaky voice goes on and on about something I can't even begin to understand. And she just doesn't want to stop. No matter how many looks of death I give her, or how many rude words. She just doesn't shut up, and it is really rubbing on me the wrong way. "Shut up." I growl at her threateningly.

"In a bad mood today, are we?" she says brightly, causing me to glare at her in spite. She seems unfazed by my outburst and continues going on, "Oh, look at those nails! Have you ever considered getting them done?"

"That's enough." I scream. The anger swirling inside finally blowing into a tornado of rage. "Don't you think I've got better things to worry about?" Her ignorance is really getting under my skin. Can't she see I'm suffering? I'm almost sure these people have got their own type of sadism going on. Oblivious sadism, where they are oblivious to other people's pain, but are yet fueling it for their own pleasure.

I stand up, and the swift motion causes her to jump from her seat too. "Are you blind? Or deaf? Do you even see what is happening right before your eyes? I'm going into the Games with the only person that ever has cared about me, and only _one_ of us is coming out alive. So maybe if you use that mush you call a brain of yours, then maybe you can see why I have other things to worry about?" With every harsh word I take a step forward, and for every step I take she backtracks until she stands with her back to the wall.

Even though she is much taller than me I still hold the advantage, by simply being terrifying. "Just shut the _fuck_ up, or I'm going to do it for you." My desire to draw blood grows stronger as the anger spreads through my body. Oceana desperately searches behind me for an escape but I know she won't find one. I won't let her escape. The thought makes my lips curl into a cold smile.

"What's going?" Enobaria interrupts suddenly. I hadn't noticed her come in.

I turn and grin my sadistic grin to her. "Oh, nothing." I say in that casual tone. Making it seem like there really is nothing going on, at least not that I'm about to kill my escort, or at least injure her for life. "I'm just doing what has to be done." Oceana faints and falls to the floor, causing me to laugh viciously. "Cleaning the world of cowards."

Enobaria tries to look stern, but I can see the faint amusement in her eyes. And something more. Pride? "You can't go around tormenting people like that, Clove." I just look at her. I don't regret it. But complete satisfaction doesn't come. Her blood was not drawn. There wasn't any pain involved. Only fear. And only fear isn't enough. "You would've killed her if I hadn't come in." It wasn't a question, just a statement. And a true statement at that.

I nod my head reasonably. "Probably."

"You need to control your temper, Clove." she says. "You're not in District 2 anymore." She nods to an Avox who came into sight and he summons a couple of others and they all carry the unconscious Oceana out. "I mean it." she says. "This can't continue. Back in District 2 you had quite the reputation, Clove. And I know they set out more Peacekeepers to watch you in particular. You already have the authorities at home on your neck. And I promise you, if you don't get your act together and behave, you'll soon get President Snow on your neck as well and then neither you or Cato will live." She inhales sharply, as if at loss of air.

I nod firmly. "I know. I'll behave. And make sure Cato does too." Which means no more alcohol. For either of us. Cato and I are both good at causing unnecessary trouble for ourselves.

Then it is Enobaria's turn to nod. "Good. I know it's hard for you, but this is a necessity for your survival." She seems determined for me to get the point. And I have gotten it, it even has sunk in. But everything sounding good in theory can be a terrible pain in practice. "Where is Cato now, anyway?"

"Sleeping the alcohol off." I say grimly. Enobaria nods in understanding. And I still can't stop thinking about the words Cato said, _you're mine to play with, my _toy_.. _ His words are really getting under my skin. Itching where I can't scratch. I look down at my arm which has gone a deep purple after Cato's grip. I sigh, it doesn't hurt, not unless I poke it. I've gone through much worse.

"Clove." Enobaria says, bringing my attention back to her. "An Avox found this in your jacket which you left on the train." she says and stretches out her arm. Cradled in her palm lays the necklace I made for Cato. I had forgotten to give it to him, in fact after all the chaos that ensued after we both got reaped I had forgotten all about it. It seems so stupid now. _Invincible_. As if.

I take the necklace from her hand and nod in thanks. "C + C, huh?" she asks. "Did you make it?"

I nod again. "I was going to give it to him as a present when I came and said goodbye after he volunteered." I sigh barely audibly. "But I guess I never came that far."

Enobaria looks at me steadily, and instead of saying something out of pity she just says, "Let's eat." And I'm glad she doesn't pity me. I neither want or need her pity.

After finishing the meal I'm not in the mood to go back to Cato, or not even back to my own room, so I find my way to the television. I've always thought of watching it as an unnecessary, fattening activity, but I really have to give the thing a credit for keeping my mind of off unpleasant thoughts.

There is a rerun of one or another Hunger Games. I think I have watched this particular one before. Where that girl from 7, Johanna Mason I think was her name, won by faking her innocent appearance. Which I have to admit was quite clever, even though I like to be straight forward with my strategies.

I watch as she mercilessly slashes the surprised victim with her axe, and silently laugh to myself. It is really funny how the other tributes could be so stupid, so naïve. Naivety is exactly what got them killed. I love how the victims try to act brave and they fail miserably. It is really amusing.

A loud sharp sound pierces the air and I sit up with a start, after having -obviously- fallen asleep on the couch. The sound is the theme song of some stupid Capitol show. I soon lose interest -though you can't really lose something you didn't have in the first place- and I find myself walking toward Cato's room. Hoping that he has sobered up -at least a little- at least enough to not act like a drunk asshole.

When I lock myself inside his room I find him still in the same position as I last saw him, still naked and still blacked out. I crawl up into his bed beside him, but instead of laying down like I usually would have I sit and lean my head against the headboard, closing my eyes. I wrap my hands around my knees, like that will keep my small self together.

For how long I sit there I don't know, but I just can't get what Cato -so ridiculously drunk- said out of my mind. _You're mine to play with, my _toy_. _I try to tell myself that it isn't bothering me, but it really is. It is, and I want to hit something, or preferably someone. Most preferably my daughter-hating, grandchild-killing ass of-

"Clove?" Cato asks, cutting off my thought. My eyes fly open and I turn my head in his direction.

"What?" I snap, harsher than intended. His face looks ghostly pale in the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains. He looks up at me with bloodshot eyes and tousled hair, and with his face as a big question mark. I turn my head back and stare at the dark wall.

"Babe, what's wrong?" he grumbles in an annoyed voice which makes me narrow my eyes. And what a ridiculous question! What is wrong? Well, everything. And can we fix that? No. Will it ever get any better? No. Will some holy force magically help us turn the impossible into the possible? Certainly not. Will my world fall apart into a thousand tragic pieces? Most definitely yes.

I snort. "I think you should rather ask what's right, it will take me less time to list."

"Then, what's right?" he asks. And I'm so sure he knows exactly what my answer is going to be. But yet, he asks it.

I look at him again. "Nothing." I say. So emotionless that I'm almost proud of myself for choking all my feelings out of my voice, that which so often exposes me. "Nothing is right. Nothing at all."

"You're angry." he states. Why, thank you Captain Obvious for that revelation. I'm so certain I wouldn't have figured it out on my own.

"Of course I'm angry. Why wouldn't I be?"

He sits up and shakes his head violently. Though I can see it makes him dizzy as he puts his head in his hands; the aftermath of being drunk. Been there, done that, and I'm never going back. "No, you're fucking mad. At me. I can see it in how your eyes flashes at me."

"You're a real ass when you're drunk, Cato." I say harshly and slightly glare at him, too tired to really make him feel bad with a scary look. "I hate how alcohol affects you." I say a little more softly. "It's like you're not you anymore, but someone else entirely."

And to my big surprise he doesn't fling a mean comment or a snarky remark at me. He simply asks, "Clove, what did I do?" His face is completely serious, devoid of any emotion as he searches my eyes with his own clear blue ones.

I lower my voice into an imitation of his, "You're mine to play with, my _toy._" I watch as his face grows grim and I sigh, my voice being mine again, "It's fine, really. I know it was the alcohol speaking."

"You _are_ mine, Clove." he says abruptly, causing me to narrow my eyes into tiny slits as I glare at him. "You _are._" And that exclamation of possessiveness makes my fury flare.

"Look you little prick." I snarl at him. "I'm not your little whore and you can't have me whenever you want." I glare at him and he glares just as spitefully back. "And most important of all; I'm _not _your fucking _toy. _I'm not something you can play with and throw away when you're bored, Cato!"

Instead of answering, or even looking me in the eye Cato has lowered his gaze and his eyes are trailed on my body instead, or more specifically my arms. Suddenly his hands shoot out and he grabs both my arms in his strong grip. The abrupt pain forces a grunt out of my mouth and I bite my lip to prevent a whimper's escape. He looks at me oddly and reaches out for my face -almost hesitantly- with his one hand. Cato tilts my chin up slightly, using his finger and he trails that finger down my neck carefully. I'm too stunned to say anything and my rage has temporarily been sat on hold.

Cato strokes my throat with feather-like softness, surprising me with his gentle caressing. Then his finger stops and presses hard into a sore spot. My lips set themselves into a firm line to keep from crying out in the surprising harsh pain his poking brings. He looks at me again, still with that strange look in his eyes.

Eventually he moves on to my pants-clad thighs, moving his whole hand roughly up my thigh and I -again- have to clench my teeth to keep the exclamation of pain to emerge as he finds another harshly sore spot. I look up at him -astonished-, I have no _fucking _idea what he is doing.

"Cato?" I ask rather softly, confusion obvious in my voice.

He isn't looking at me anymore and he doesn't answer. His gaze is following the floor where it eventually rests on the heap of clothes on the ground; my broken bra and ripped panties. Suddenly his eyes widens -as if in realization- and he exclaims a low, "Shit."

Understanding of his realization hits me and I know he just remembered what happened earlier. And his gaze softens as it finally trails on me. "Baby?" he asks gently. And I'm not sure if I'm shocked or amused by his overly soft voice.

"It's fine, Cato." I tell him calmly, watching as his eyes flashes restlessly. "It's nothing."

He drags his hand across his face before thrusting it through his messy, dirty-blond hair. "Clove." he says slowly. Almost hesitant. It is like he is fighting to stay his cold self. "Tell me the truth." His voice is an emotionless growl and his eyes flickers uncertainly over my face. "Did I-" He takes a deep breath. "-rape you?"

My forehead creases in confusion-filled shock. "What? No!" _Rape _me? He didn't rape me. He is my Cato, and I gave him the right to touch me years ago. And I won't reclaim that right because I _need_ his touch, no matter how brutal it is. "You couldn't have raped me even if you tried." I hiss. I could have stopped him if I wanted. But I didn't want to.

After a while of just sitting there studying my face he grins and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Cato can't keep anything serious for any longer than a couple of moments. "You're right." he says. "It isn't rape 'cause I'm fucking sexy and I know the only thing you think about is how you want me buried deep inside you."

"Don't flatter yourself." I tell him meanly. He narrows his eyes at me and opens his mouth to come with a smart-ass remark, but he doesn't get to say it before he leaps onto the floor and into the bathroom, before retching is the only thing to be heard. Sighing I follow him, and I'm welcomed by the smell of vomit. Cato flushes the toilet and leans against the wall.

I grab a small towel from one of the shelves and wet it for him before laying it on his damp forehead. Then I clear from his way, making sure that his path to the toilet is clear if more stomach content should make its arrival.

He sighs deeply after a while of silence. "Are you okay, Clove?" Again his gentleness manages to surprise me. "You don't mind I forced myself on you and don't remember shit?"

"No, I don't _mind._" I tell him. "It's just that.. When you're drunk, it seems like you don't care anymore. You looked at me like you look at those victims. It's like the alcohol washes out ever fiber of the little care you've got in your body." He opens his mouth to say something, but I don't give him the chance. I know what it is and I don't want to hear it. "Don't say you're sorry." I _hate _it when he apologizes to me.

"Then what do you want me to say?" he asks frustrated, dragging a hand through his hair. "What do you want me to say? Huh? Because I don't fucking know!" One of Cato's usual outbursts which I'm very familiar with by now.

And even though I know what I want to hear I know I won't get to hear them. Because those words might as well be lies, and Cato doesn't lie to me. No matter how mean and immoral he is, he doesn't lie to me. "I want you to say that everything will be fine." I tell him quietly. "That we'll both get out of this alive. That absolutely everything will be just perfectly fine."

He sighs, slowly, then shakes his head. "I won't lie to you." is the only thing he says. We are both lost and faithless, all our hope in coming home has vanished. But really, it never was there in the first place.

"That's a shame." I whisper. "'Cause that's what I really need to hear."

Cato looks up at me. Every trace of the mean and snarky boy I know gone. He looks desperate, faithless. Nothing like himself. "I'm sorry I can't give you what you need." he whispers. His eyes are shining with the clearest blue color, and I'm slowly but surely drowning in them. What will I do if they weren't there to calm me anymore?

I'm still hypnotized by his beautiful eyes. Those who can look at me so lovingly, but yet become the coldest of sadism when faced with a prey. Those who can tell me exactly what he is feeling. Those who can make me do almost anything. And before I can reply he is back beside the toilet bowl, retching his insides up. I scrunch my nose in disgust. "Just go to bed, Clove. I'll be right with you, I need to get cleaned up. Wait for me?"

I nod and smirk the slightest. "Always, asshole."


	5. When Touched By A Stranger

5.

When Touched by a Stranger

The unbearable action;

When touched by a stranger

Hands slithering like a snake

Taking what wasn't his to take

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><p>"<em>The law won't arrest you. The world won't detest you. You never did anything any man wouldn't do." Gothic Lolita, Emilie Autumn<em>

* * *

><p>A collection of high-pitched squeaks and piercing screams fill the air and tears me out of my frail sleep. The voices get louder and louder until they burst through the door as splotches of color. Cato grunts as the loud bang of the door wakes him. Cato's prep team are obviously confused when they find both of us laying in his bed. My prep team are probably even more confused, as they can't find me at all. Shrieking voices are to be heard in the hallway, all with those horrible high-pitched Capitol accents.<p>

The colorful and sparkly prep team stand around the bed, looking down on us. I'm tempted to drag the covers over my head and pretend that I'm not being inspected by some color blobs. Each and every one of Cato's prep team seem to have a different color. One is blue, another green, and the third purple.

A trio of horrible-looking creatures burst through the door. "Why is she in here?" one of them shrieks. The one being a male with surprisingly normally dyed skin, but tattoos of intricate patterns covering almost everything of his body I can see.

Our act as enemies just got blown. I never was a good actress anyway, but this is _not_ good. Not at all. "Shut it," I growl at him. I was never really a morning person, and I do not appreciate being awakened by people I'm not really sure qualifies in the category 'People'. More like puppets, or simply blobs of color.

But of course, like everyone I have spoken to in this ridiculous place, they don't listen. In fact they have just started chattering about the fact that I'm laying in Cato's bed. Though clothed, it doesn't exactly give off the hateful relationship we are trying to create.

One of them gasps, "Are you two a couple?" she asks, or at least I think it is a she. Her -or his- face is so surgically altered I can't decide if its features are male or female. It has short spiky greenish hair and matching eyeshadow. Its body is quite plump, and the signs of it being a female lacks, but so does the male parts..

I glare at them hatefully -this is none of their fucking business- and throw my pillow at the nearest bubbly creature, which jumps out of the way and looks at me like I just tried to kill it. And I might soon, if they don't get out of my way.

Cato carefully wraps his hand around my upper arm, as if to hold me back. I look up at him, his hair tousled and eyes bloodshot; he is definitely hungover. Not that strange really, thinking of the amounts of alcohol he drank last night. But still if his eyes are bloodshot, they are still the most brilliant blue I have ever seen.

"We'll have a minute to ourselves." he says, his expression hostile and voice cold. The prep teams squeaks something and gets out of the door. All stumbling over each other as they try to be the first ones out.

"Control yourself, Clove," he growls lowly. "I know they're annoying. But they are someone we can't afford to let our anger out on. You need to think, and _not_ let anger get the best of you." I'm so tired of people telling me that, as I have always let it unleash itself as it wanted, finding that keeping it bottled up was worse. Much worse. I have always been easily angered, and though I always lash out one way or the other, it doesn't often get so bad I don't have any control. Not often, just _sometimes_.

I laugh a bitter and sarcastic laugh. "You know-" I say and get of off the bed, turning my back at him as I walk to inspect myself in the mirror. My green eyes staring back at me, my black hair making the whirling dark flecks in them more prominent. "-I'm pretty tired of people telling me to control my anger, Cato." I whirl around on him, glaring. "I can control myself fine, _thank you very much_."

As I turn back to the mirror, I hear him curse as he gets out of bed, his head probably spinning. He stands still for a couple of seconds before he comes behind me, a faint smirk taking hold of his handsome face. "No, you can't, _angel_."

"Yes, I can," I say through clenched teeth. This is a test, I know it, to see if I snap. And I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of being right. Because that is something I will never ever live down, and we both know it.

"You can't." His words is poking in my anger that is gathering inside, soon waiting to be unleashed.

"I can," I say stubbornly. I'm not going to let him win this. I won't prove him right. If it is something I hate it is when Cato's right. Which he is too often for my liking.

He watches me in the mirror, shaking his head. I can see the infuriating smirk on his lips. This is amusing him. "No, you-"

Then the building irritation flames into anger. "Oh, stop it already!" I whirl around on him again, hitting his chest hard and he gives a low, but yet satisfying grunt of pain. "It isn't funny, Cato." I glare at him, hoping me hitting him leaves a big fucking bruise. His fucking smug grin won't vanish and it makes the waves of fury slam within. "I haven't forgiven you for last night, and if you insist on continuing angering me I'm fucking outta here." As I start to walk away he grabs my arm.

He narrows his eyes at me. "I'm fucking sorry, okay?" he growls. "I'm sorry for what I did last night, I didn't fucking mean to. I'm not even sure of what it was, 'cause I don't remember shit! But it clearly upset you and I'm sorry." He looks at me so intensely I can't glance away, and I know this mad growling is the only form of an apology I will ever get from him. "As for now, I'm trying to prove my point. You're way to easily angered. It's dangerous. More dangerous now than ever."

The intensity in his glare soon rubs off on me, and I pierce him with my eyes in the most threatening manner I know. "What are they gonna do 'bout that, huh?" I almost shout at him, anger still flowing through my veins, and making my blood boil. "Tell me, Cato," I growl at him. "'Cause it doesn't matter, okay? They already put us in the Games together, and it doesn't fucking matter that I _offend _any of the pathetic excuses of people leaving here, because I'm fucking dead anyway!"

My angry panting doesn't seem to want to be stilled with the first, and I know he is watching me as I try to control my shallow breathing. "This is what they want Cato. They want my hatred, my fucking anger. They want us to tear each other apart, limb by fucking limb. They want us to fucking destroy each other." I'm snarling almost incomprehensibly at him now. "And who am I to deny them what they want?" I spit harshly at him, basically threatening his life. Well, that is what we fucking do. Scream, threat, sex.

As I scream at him, his face slowly darkens, his eyes grow narrowed and his mouth sets itself into a thin angry line. When I busy myself with trying to get this fucking panting under control, he grabs my wrist with bone-breaking force and whirls me around. He presses my back into his broad chest, and grabs a hold of my jaw, violently flipping my head so far that I find myself almost facing him again. "Shut it, angel," he snarls, lowly, bringing his face down to mine, accidentally brushing his forehead against my temple. "And calm the fuck down. You will stop fucking screaming at me like a pathetic little child, and you will start controlling yourself, are we clear?"

My anger does nothing to falter as he grabs me in a head-lock, and it surges even more when he tells me to calm down. Why the fuck should I? A low, rumbling sound is to be hear deep down in my throat, sounding feral and a lot like an angry animal. "Fuck you," I tell him through clenched teeth.

He twists my head even further, and all I can do is not cry out in pain. That sick bastard gets off when I cry out in pain, I won't give him that satisfaction. "Are we clear?" he asks, once more, the low threat of a warning not to be mistaken. He is on his way to become furious. And when Cato becomes furious, everyone should run as far as they can and hide in the darkest corner, or the blackest closet.

"Fuck it," I mutter coldly. "It is all _clear, _Cato. Now let fucking go of me." He does as I say and I begin to massage the base of my neck, working my way upward to catch the more sore spots. Fuck him, and his bruising.

"Be a good little girl, _angel_." he taunts, and I whirl to face him, peering up at him through narrowed slits. "And don't go fucking spoiling our plan."

"And what plan is that?" I ask him, anger still barely restrained in my cold tone. He really knows how to get under my skin, and whenever he does I don't want anything more than flay myself open, just to get him away.

"The one that will keep us both alive," he says. No description, no instruction, no nothing. Only hopelessness, and a fucking spark of irritation.

A contest of the one who can glare the longest breaks out between us, and it eventually ends with me sighing in defeat, letting him win this one. But the sigh of defeat wasn't because I lost that stupid staring competition. No, that sigh was because of our gossipy prep teams know about us now, too. And I doubt they hold the capability to keep that important secret, an actual secret. "They know now too, Cato. They know about us. They can spoil it for everyone." I say at last, looking up at him, my eyes not flashing as fiercely as my anger has calmed to soft breeze within.

He nods slowly, seemingly lost in thought. But then a mean grin grows on his face, spreading a evil glint to his eye, and pretty much enlightening his whole face. "Not unless we do something about it."

A smirk also gets a hold of my face, when I get his trail of thought and I bob my head enthusiastically. "It'll be just like back home." I say, excitement settling, and -fortunately- forces every other annoying emotion out of my body for the slightest time.

He grins that malicious grin at me, and opens his mouth to say something, but an interruption unfortunately occurred as the words were about to leave his lips. "Ms. Cavia! We have to get you ready for the Opening Ceremony!"

"Behave, angel," he says in a hushed voice as I'm about to leave.

"You too, asshole," I call over my shoulder, briefly catching his darkly amused face, before I disappear out the door.

And so the torture begins.

...

It feels like they have scrubbed my skin off, along with my scars and every ever so small blemish. Without my scars I feel naked, like they have stolen a deeply personal part of me. The scars was my way of remembering good fights, remembering exactly how I got them and why. Who will see me as a threat if they remove one of the only things threatening about my appearance?

I'm standing naked on a small platform-like thing, waiting for my stylist. I hope he isn't completely crazy that he forces me to wear something totally embarrassing. But my hopes do no good as an old man walks into the room. A barely audible gasp escapes me, but with good reason. The guy isn't only old, he is _really_ old. I'm sure that under all that brown hairdye his hair has grayed a long time ago.

His grin as he sees my naked body creeps me out. He circles me slowly, eyeing every part of my naked flesh. "Aren't you a pretty little thing," he purrs in his Capitol accented voice. "Beautiful even." He has stopped before me, and being that I'm standing on the platform thing, his eyes are at the same height with my breasts, those which he can't seem take his beady black eyes off.

He orders me to step off it and I do as he says. He suddenly grabs my waist, holding me close to him and caressing my thigh in the most intimate manner, before his other hand trails up my body, cupping my breast. Disgust fuels my anger even more and as I forget everything about what Cato said earlier, I get ready to punch him. He shakes his head disapprovingly, obviously noticing me tensing, and knowing what I'm about to do. "Now, now. You don't want to do that. Remember, I know the President personally. You won't want him to hear about a certain unruly tribute, now do you?"

My breathing goes faster as his words sink in. He is right. If I do something President Snow will surely hear about. I can't have that. Then our only chance of survival gets stomped into thousand of pieces.

He lets his hand wander and I hold my breath, shutting my eyes close as he reaches the one part of me only Cato is allowed to see, yet alone touch. "Get off me." I whisper, my breath ripples shallowly through the air in breaths of shameful fright.

"What if I don't want to?" he breathes in my ear. And I know I'm moments from punching him, no matter what it will do to my man and I. Because Clove Cavia does _not _take this from anyone. Especially not a scrawny old man she could kill in a manner of seconds.

My stylist releases me eventually, almost throwing me away from him as he finishes his disgusting doings. He gives me a set of tiny, lacy lingerie to wear and black sock gathers coming with a matching set of black thigh high stockings. Just as I've shakily dressed the prep team burst into the room holding my costume, and as soon as I see it, I pale even more. It is a cheap version of a peacekeeper uniform. Cheap as in slutty. By the look of it the dress should belong to a seven year old, and they expect me to fit in that little thing.

Producing peacekeepers are one of District 2's main industries, and the tributes do always wear something symbolizing which district they are from. And my old stylist have decided that I will go dressed as a prostitute. What a good first impression, but then again, I guess sex sells in the Capitol, I mean, where does it not?

When the whore-outfit is in its place, I examine myself in the mirror. They have also done my make-up, and hair. My hair flows around me in all its black wavy glory and on top of my head rests a tiny version of the hats peacemakers wear, while my make-up is dark. Despite the slutty dress, I look fierce. The black around my eyes making the green in them more prominent. With a final touch of some five inch stilettos, I'm ushered out the door, almost tripping as I'm not used to walk in high-heels.

Disgusted out of my mind -the repulsive touch of my stylist still lingers, I still _feel _his sweaty hands on my skin- I meet Cato outside in the hallway, who is clad in his own peacekeeper uniform. His broad, muscular chest is bare as the uniform is kept open. He stops to survey my transformation as soon as his eyes finds me and I watch as they widen. "You look-" He cocks his head as if thinking of something to say. "-different."

"Good different or bad different?" I ask dryly. This costume really leaves little to the imagination and if it was up to me it should belong in the bedroom.

He overlooks my outfit again and I can see as his forehead slowly creases. "I hate it when you look like a slut in public. I don't like guys drooling over what's mine."

"I'm not a slut," I growl at him. Kind of hurt that he would call me that, though I would never admit it to him. The last guy who called me a slut got killed with half the population of our district's youth as audience. It taught them all an important lesson: Clove Cavia is _not _a slut.

"You _look_ like a slut," he says darkly. "There is a difference between looking like one and being one."

Frustrated, I glare at him. "Shut up, Cato," I say. "I'm not a fucking whore." My growling sounds different than how it usually does. It is like I can't quite get into my usual hostility because of the heavy weight crushing me. The heavy weight that is the memory of my stylist's hand caressing my most private part. Violent shudders goes down my spine, and my lip trembles uncontrollably, _weakly_. I bite into my lip to stop the sign of weakness from showing, and I bite down on it hard enough to draw blood. The coppery taste lingers in my mouth, and forces my focus away from Cato's intense eyes for the slightest second.

I can't seem fight the ridiculous feeling of hurt creeping on me. And I know that Cato calling me a slut is only a really tiny part of it. The main blame goes to my perv of a stylist. And with the hurt also a familiar anger surfaces. I won't let him get away with this. I will kill him for making me feel so fucking abused, so _weak._

Once again his eyes examine my face, and once again I don't know what he is looking for. His forehead slowly creases and I watch as his lips transforms into a thin, firm line. Eventually his intense gaze is too much for me to handle and I have to look away. I can feel my hands trembling and I knot them into tiny fists as I fight the lingering expression of disgust on my face. But the repulsion has frozen in a mask of anger, and I know he sees it. "Clove?" he asks lowly in a weirdly strained voice.

Slowly I look up at him, and I see his eyes flickering with something I can't even begin to recognize. Emotions are tightening in my chest -rare emotions I can't identify but I know I should be able to push away- making it a struggle to get enough air. It feels like I'm choking on unfamiliar emotions and a sudden feeling of claustrophobia overwhelms me. "What's wrong?" he asks in his normal growl. But beneath that cold growling of his there is a vague soft tone with a hint of gentleness which reminds me a lot of concern.

My head shakes itself almost automatically, always denying weakness and vulnerability. Those two words aren't in my vocabulary or at least they shouldn't be. But sometimes words seem to write themselves into it, without my content and forces emotions which I -as a heartless Career- shouldn't be able to feel. "Nothing," I tell him. Both of us knowing that I'm lying. I have always been a terrible liar and Cato can read me like an open book.

I press my lips firmly together as a weak feeling stirs inside me, calling a sob from its dark which I try frantically to ignore. My forehead creases in effort as the sob doesn't want to be kept inside and slowly builds in my throat. Cato takes my head in his hands, his palms cupping my cheeks and his fingers tangling in my hair. "Tell me," he says, his eyes flashing a beautiful blue. And with those eyes gazing into mine all my will-power to stay the strong, cold and vicious Clove Cavia falters.

A ragged breath escapes me with the sound of the choked sob it really is. "I couldn't keep him off me," I whisper pathetically, hurt seeping shamefully into my voice. "He threatened me, Cato. I-I couldn't do anything." My breathing goes faster and faster but my need for air can't seem to be satisfied. "I couldn't do anything," I whisper, closing my eyes as the intensity in his gaze is too much to handle.

"What?" This growl is low and threatening. "Who, Clove? You couldn't keep who off you?"

I open my eyes to find his inches away and burning in spiteful rage. "My stylist."

"What did he do?" he asks and I shake my head, trying to get out of his grip. Instead of letting go off me his grip tightens even more, making every motion impossible. "Clove," he growls. "What did he _do_?" He pronounces every word in his deep grumbling voice low and clearly. Almost spitting every word at me as if to make sure I understand what he is asking.

Tears spring to my eyes and I'm ashamed of myself for being so weak. "He.." I trail off weakly. "Damn it, Cato." I whisper, angry at him for making me say it out loud and making the tears forming in my eyes to spill over my cheek. A single weak tear escapes my eye, and he uses his thumb to wipe it away. "His hands.." I can't utter those next words, they won't be let off my tongue.

Cato gets the picture anyway, and the fierce fury evident in his eyes promises nothing good. "He _touched _you?" The expression creeping onto his face is one so furious that I'm not sure if he is with me anymore or if he has traveled into his own city of rage. "You're mine," he snarls. "Nobody touches what's fucking-" His anger finally reaches level insanity and he whirls and punches the wall. "-_mine._"

"Cato!" I grip his arm to prevent him from punching the wall again. He is panting heavily in anger and I can see the struggle to control it on his face. He clenches his teeth, panting heavily through them and knots his hands into big, deadly fists. I reach up and grip his head, cupping his cheeks firmly to keep him from doing something he will regret. Every second he glances down into my eyes, he grows calmer until he eventually calms down enough to be somewhat rational.

He slowly reaches out to touch my face, gently tracing my cheekbone with his thumb. He peers into my eyes while his holds dark and barely restrained anger. "I'll kill him," he says dangerously, lowering his hand. "I'll kill him for what he did to you. No one, _no one, _touches you."

And in that moment all the annoying feelings swirling inside of me threatens to escape, and I know I just need him to make me feel better. My stilettos make me much taller, and I don't have to stand on my toes to reach around his neck. With more ease than ever, I slink my arms around his large throat and crush my lips against his. In that moment I need him to touch me so he can replace the disgusting feeling of my stylist's hands on me. In that moment I need to be with him -united in every way- just to make my sorry ass feel better. In that moment I need him to enclose me and make me forget about everything else than him and his dangerous and warm touch.

In that moment when I need him the most, I can't have him.

Cato seems surprised at first as I attack him but soon kisses me back just as forcefully. "I need you, Cato," I murmur against his lips. "Now."

Breaking away from the kiss he grins playfully but yet so arrogantly at me. "Care to give me a more detailed description of what you need from me?" He raises his eyebrow suggestively and I can't help but roll my eyes.

I give him one last soft peck on the lips before wiping the lipstick I smeared all over his mouth in our brutal kiss with my hand. Then I sigh. "We don't have the time," I say, and let my hands fall to rest on his broad and bare chest. "Enobaria is waiting, and I think we're gonna be late."

Cato sneaks his arm around my waist and kisses my temple softly as we start to walk toward the elevator. "I'll kill him," he whispers threateningly, and I'm not doubting the truth of his words. "I'll fucking make him suffer." And I know that when Cato is thirsty for blood, he won't stop until it is quenched.

I know he will drag me along for some killing, and I won't object. This will be what we both need to get some anger and frustration out of our systems. There has been a long time since I've drawn blood now being that I've been under so close supervision. But finally I will get to just be evil and sadistic, laughing as someone painfully leaves the world with their blood on my hands. Finally I will get to just be the vicious Clove Cavia.

…

Cato and I were in the elevator alone until District 1 came and ruined our continued make out session. We almost didn't have the time to disentangle from each others arms before the door opened and they strode in.

I can still see the intelligence and experience lurking beneath the surface of the blonde girl. She gives me a superior smile while looking down at me. Though my heels are way taller than hers, she is still inches taller than me, but I glare back with equal superiority.

"I'm Glimmer," she says, flashing her beautiful white smile.

I give a slight nod in acknowledgment. "Clove," I say coldly.

"And I'm Cato," Cato cuts in, smiling dangerously. His smile isn't really a smile, more a threat. He is already psyching out the competition, and by the slightly terrified look on the District 1 boy's face, I know it is working.

The District 1 boy isn't nearly as big as Cato. In fact, he looks kind of puny in comparison, even though I can still see he has trained for this. "I'm Marvel," he tells us, looking at us suspiciously. And he has a right to be suspicious; I'm already mentally planning his violent death.

The elevator door opens in the floor below and she turns to Cato and says, "By the way, you've got some lipstick here." She points to the corner of her mouth and walks out of the elevator, Marvel silently following her.

"Fuck," Cato exclaims, wiping the lipstick away with the back of his hand.

"We have to be more careful," I tell him.

"It's hard when you look like that." He looks pointedly at the good view he has of my breasts, which are almost tearing free from the tight fabric. I find it hard to breathe in this sad excuse of a dress.

He reaches out for me, but I slip away from him. "Which part of 'careful' is it that you don't understand?" I ask.

"I understand just fine, Clove. It's just that I don't _want _to." Instead of looking at him I fix his collar, which has been ruffled out of place and sigh deeply. My sight travels down his body along with my hands and I feel his rock hard abs under my fingertips, trying to avoid his gaze.

From the second Oceana picked the note with my name on it, I have felt a lot of different things. I'm angry, the anger is burning deeply within and will soon grow into an inferno burning and destroying everything around. Soon. And fear, I'm scared out of my mind for what will happen. Hopelessness. Frustration. Desperation. And now, repulsion. I feel so dirty. Like my stylist abused my innocence that already was long lost, like he abused my frail sanity. I can't let him go unpunished. I need him to suffer, but first I need to shower the disgust away. I need the feeling of his clammy fingers gripping my breast to go away.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Cato gruffly says and I'm yet again surprised. We were never the kind of couple -if you can call us that- who talked about their feelings and problems and such, and it always comes to amaze me whenever Cato chooses to show that he cares in another expression than touch. Usually we know when the other one is having a hard time, and instead of talking about it we offer comfort in one of the only two ways we know: either killing or fucking.

I shake my head and lead him out of the closing elevator. "That you're annoyingly over-protective. I know what you're getting at, Cato. We already went over this, I told you what he did, didn't I? Can't we just be done with it?"

"Not as long as it's bothering you." He peers down at me as his forehead creases, his usual hostile expression gone. He still looks mad as fuck but that is not the feeling which is the main focus in those capturing blue eyes of his. It is something more gentle. Usually he looks at me like he wants to slam me against the wall and just take me right there, but this soft look is more like he wants to just take me in his arms, caress my face and stroke my hair. A look that is very foreign on my handsome boyfriend's face.

"It isn't..._bothering _me," I tell him through clenched teeth as I stop to look him straight in the eye, green eyes flashing and met by blue ones with equal intensity. "More like suffocating me," I admit, shamefully. I don't want it to affect me this way, but I can't just shrug it off. It is the creeping feeling of this strangers germs on my skin, a perverse stranger who saw me naked at that. And has every excuse and opportunity to see me again.

I shake my head fast, smiling for reasons unknown. It is just so ridiculous. The sadistic, fearless Clove, brought down by a man who touched her a little the wrong way. "It doesn't matter," I say and walk away, leaving him speechless. Cato has never dealt with a situation like this before, because I always could fend for myself. But this time I couldn't, and it is tearing me to pieces.

"Wait!" Cato whispers frantically from behind me, but I have already walked into the crowded room, which has eyes and ears everywhere. He can't do this in here. I spot Enobaria and walk over to the chariot she is standing by.

I try to walk as smoothly as I can in these heels, but I find myself almost stumbling in my own feet. Enobaria eyes my outfit and shakes her head. "You got Bartholomew, didn't you?"

I look at her questioningly before I realize she must be talking about the stylist. I shrug and a shiver of disgust runs down my spine as I think of the old man. "I guess. He never properly introduced himself."

"Oh, trust me. That's his work. Slutty and easy. He must be getting old now, you see, he was my stylist too." She gives me a knowing look, and nods at Cato as he comes up by my side. Already, without looking at him, I know he is glaring hostilely at everyone daring to glance our way. The same which I should be doing, but I find myself ignoring them altogether. Which might even be the better strategy as it makes it seem like I'm above them (Which I clearly am) and that I don't see them as enough of a threat to spare them a flicker of my precious attention (Which I clearly don't).

"Okay, this is your chariot." Enobaria gestures to the chariot beside us, which will be drawn by a couple of brown sturdy-looking horses. "Both of you will act arrogantly and when they clap, cheer your name, or want your attention you will only smile cheekily. Ignore them but only enough for them to go crazy and then acknowledge them with an arrogant smile. You're above them, remember that."

It seems reasonable enough and I nod. Acting arrogant won't be a problem, as it simply isn't an act. I've been raised to know I'm above everyone else, arrogance flows through my veins. With a stiff motion I try to straighten my dress, tugging at its ends desperately wishing it was a little longer, and trying not to fall. Trying not to fall proves to be a great challenge in these heels and I stumble into Cato, who steadies me. Cato is trying to withhold our non-loving act and glares at me, and I can see the glare is only partly an act, the rest is a glare of frustration. I glare back, equally frustrated. After all, he isn't the one who has to wear this shit! He isn't the one who just got a feel of Bartholomew's sweaty hands on his most intimate parts!

Snickering erupts from a carriage away. District 4 -I guess, as everyone is standing after their district's number. Meaning that Cato and I are standing behind Glimmer and Marvel, as the second to make an exit- is standing there snickering. Or the girl is anyway, the boy is just standing there trying to look fierce, but not quite managing. When both Cato and I turn our glares their direction the girl has the courtesy to shut her annoying mouth.

Nerves are getting to me and I feel a pang of nausea in the pit of my stomach. "I have to go to the bathroom," I whisper harshly.

"Now?" Cato asks. Enobaria has stepped away a couple of steps to talk into that phone of hers. She seems angry, like she isn't quite liking what she is hearing.

"Yes, now. I'll be quick." I saunter away, trying to at least act a bit collected. My sauntering turns into striding, which in its turn turns into almost-running. With a little trouble I find the bathroom in the end. I'm met by a blazing fluorescent light as I make my way inside. I grip the edge of the vanity tightly until the urge to retch my insides up has subsided. It still has set my stomach in a grip of unease, but at least I don't feel really sick. Not the physical kind of sick anyway.

But mentally, that is another story. It is like Bartholomew didn't just touch my body, but also my mind. The tight push-up bra is squeezing my intestines together, and I'm afraid it soon will choke me as I struggle to breathe. The ridiculous hat reminds me too much of its maker, and I throw it away. I ruffle my hair slightly, relieved as I find I look a bit more like myself without the perfectly styled hair.

My pale reflexion stares back at me. The girl in the mirror doesn't look like me at all. All my teenage life I hsve been running from the rumors that were going around about me. The ones about me being a slut. Those rumors nearly ruined my reputation. Clove Cavia is _not _a slut. She is fierce, sadistic and confident. She knows what she is doing.

The girl in the mirror doesn't.

The girl in the mirror is afraid, and weakened by stuff she should be able to shrug off. The girl in the mirror is not the one who got reaped almost two days ago. And the fact that she is changing that quickly is terrifying.

_No. I can do this. I have to. I know I can do this. I just need to be my scary and intimidating self. I can do this._

My own pep-talk actually helps, and I walk out the door with new-found confidence. Clove Cavia wouldn't hesitate to scare people. Despite her slight height, she always intimidated everyone who were dumb enough to get in her path. I just need to act like me, then everything will be fine.

Everybody's eyes are on me as I prance into the room, keeping my eyes steadily trailed on Cato, not sparing our competition a single glance. They have all entered their chariots, and as I do so myself I find it hard without showing my thong to everyone. Thankfully Cato helps me and steadies me as I'm sure I'm about to fall off. The big gate opens to relieve a massive audience, and I struggle to stand still as the horses start to move. I soon manage and set my mind in game mode. I will make them worship me.

Let the applause begin.


	6. When Thirsts Are Quenched

**Author's note: I'm updating every Friday, if not something unexpected is to occur. I have been very busy lately, but I will try my best to get the chapters out on time. **

**And I just want to thank everyone who reviewed, and put this in their story alerts, and favorite stories. Love all of you!**

**- Drea  
><strong>

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><p>6.<p>

When Thirsts Are Quenched 

The joyful happening;

When thirsts are quenched

These thirsts will always return

Can't wait to watch you burn

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><p>"<em>It brings me pleasure just to know you're going to die." Platypus (I Hate You), Green Day <em>

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><p>The Opening Ceremony was nothing like expected. I did my job, and acted like my arrogant self. But no matter how brilliantly I acted, or how slutty I looked, District 12 still stole the show with their stupid glowing costumes. Scrawny little District 12 got more applause than any other district, than all of the other districts together! That annoying little bitch who volunteered for her sister, and her weak partner actually held hands, clad in something that didn't show a tad skin but yet blew mine off of the map.<p>

I want to kill them so badly. _So fucking badly. _Driven by the incomprehensible lust to feel blood on my hands, I find myself on my way to the top floor to meet Cato. The top floor is where the stylists and prep teams live during the preparations of the Games.

I felt Cato's anger surge violently through him all through the Opening Ceremony. He barely could keep himself still as he glared at everyone in the spiteful rage that was -and probably still is- building within him. Because the fact that I was touched by someone that wasn't him, is enough to drive Cato mad. Whenever he loses himself in that fog of insanity, I know that everything in his way will be destroyed. And to deal with that anger, that unbelievable, burning, suffocating fury welling inside our chests, we kill.

As I stand in the elevator, waiting for it to stop in Floor 13, I find myself shaking. Shaking with rage, shame, with all the feelings intruding my body. I can't keep them away, no matter how much I try, and they are driving my mind to a place where it really should not be. Insanity is slowly creeping on me, I can feel it in the edges of my mind. It clouds my brain, and my thoughts are foggy. The tiny grip I have on myself falters dangerously fast, and I can feel myself slipping away.

Control isn't there to be held accountable for my actions anymore, but rage is. And when rage consumes my body like it does now, I can't see. I can't see because of the crimson clouding my vision, and the foggy numbness taking place in my head blocks every small rational part I ever had.

Along with the blinding daze made by numbing fury, excitement also finds a way of getting my body trembling. The only thing I can think is revenge. Fucking bloody, _sweet_ revenge. Murder brings control back. It has a soothing effect on my deranged and restless mind, because of the consuming feeling of utter power when taking someone's life.

As I meet up with Cato, I know by the way his features are creased into ones of madness and anger, by the way his big hands are knotted into big, lethal fists, and by the way his eyes are flashing coldly with sadism that his control is by far more lost than mine. If someone other than me was to approach him now, I know he would snap their necks without a second thought.

"Finally," he growls as I come into sight. "Thought you might had been caught." I was supposed to get some sort of weapon for myself. Cato kills with his hands, and I have done so before too. But I find it rather difficult in comparison to him, as his hands must be more than three times as big as mine. That is why I roamed the tiny kitchen on our Floor for a decent knife, after knocking out a couple of Avoxes. I tried to be subtle about it and left them behind one of those doors which leads to God-knows-where, hoping they would wake themselves and not be found.

I twirl the knife around in my hand, and look up at him with narrowed eyes. "You know I never get caught." Let us just say Cato and I have a lot of experience in this area. Murdering and all. Sometimes when we are bored, we often just find some poor souls to torture. Even though killing occurs often in our district with more than half of the citizens brought up to be killers, there are still peacekeepers set out to watch us so our beloved and blood-thirsty district doesn't go completely overboard.

We soon find the door marked as 'District 2 Prep team 1' and 'District 2 Prep team 2'. Though I have no idea which prep team is which. "Take them." He points at prep team 1's door. "And I'll take them and your stylist," Cato whispers in an incomprehensible growl.

I furrow my brows to keep the anger inside and not unleash it on him. Because I know that if I am to pick a fight with him now, he will snap so badly he might end up doing something we will both regret. I shake my head violently, as if it will shake out the instinct that tells me to scream at him because of how unfair he is being. "_I _want to kill that bastard," I whisper fiercely, and poke myself in the chest for emphasis.

Now Cato shakes his head. "I don't want you anywhere near him," he whispers just as fiercely back. "It doesn't matter if it's just to kill him, Clove. I don't want you near that bastard _ever _again. He.. He _touched _you, Clove. And you fucking let him. He fucking_ touched _you, and I'll make him pay. Nobody touches what's fucking mine."

Narrowing my eyes in disbelief I glare at him with all the spite I can muster, which is quite a lot if I can say so myself. "I _let _him?" My voice rises into an angry and slightly higher pitch. "I _let _him touch me?" This.. This is.. Wow, I can't even think what this is. What the hell? How fucking dare he say that to me? I clench my teeth together in anger, and it is all I can do not to slap him. With a glare, I stand on my toes to get right up in his face, knowing well enough that it makes his fury flare when I do so. "You know what, Cato? Fuck you. I didn't fucking _let _him. I would never _let _anyone beside you, you inconsiderate asshole, touch me. And the reason I couldn't keep him off was because he fucking threatened me, Cato. I didn't punch him because of us, 'cause I for once tried to think things through 'cause you told me not to mess up our _plan. _But since you couldn't care less, I guess it's all my fucking fault then! I mean it always is, isn't it?"

He glares at me. "Shut up, Clove. Just.. Just shut up." He glares down at me, and the fact that he tells me to shut up makes my blood boil. "Now, kill them quick. You do not have any fucking time to mess around with them." He changes the topic quickly, to show he is not kidding around.

"Fuck you," I tell him.

"You wish," he retorts, and winks at me. Though the gesture is only scary, and not flirtatious at all through this flaring fury.

I flip him off with a glare, barely catching the dark grin on his face, infuriating me even more. We both return our attention to the doors before us and we pry them open simultaneously. A wicked grin has taken place on my face already before the door is opened, thoughts of my angry jerk of a boyfriend leaving my mind the second I know what I'm about to do. I can fight with Cato later, right now something more important is on my agenda.

Silently I close the door and slink further into the large room. Faint moonlight seeping through the curtains, allows me to see three forms laying in the three beds placed around in the room. Recognizing the heshe, I know that this is my prep team. Stopping beside its bed, I glance down at its sleeping face, and smirk about the fact that it is unknowing about the threat hovering above it. Unknowing about death that will make an early arrival.

A gasping sound to my left makes my head snap in the very direction. A pair of fear-filled eyes look up at me, I fling my knife at her before she has the time to open her squeaky mouth. Fast, I retrieve the knife from her chest, and drive my knife into the heshe's throat as it woke at the other's gasp. It gurgles, before its eyes grow fainter until they simply grow dead. Pleasure welcomes me as an old friend, and I laugh silently. My cruel laugh becomes more manic, and I have to take a couple of deep breaths to calm the bubbly, sadistic giggles.

But then I remember I have one left, and I once again retrieve my one knife from a dead prep team member's body. The last member of my prep team has risen from the bed, and is standing -as speechless as an Avox- staring at me with wide tear-filled eyes. I leap onto the floor and slam into him as I lodge my knife into his chest, practically pinning him to the soft floor. He is dead before I have gotten off him.

Bubbly laughter escapes my lips once again as I look around and see the destruction I have brought with me. Three dead bodies -pale in the moonlight- scattered across the room with blood oozing out of their destroyed bodies. It brings me joy, and I can't keep the laughter down.

And it is just then when the door flies open, and reveals my not-so-delightful escort.

...

Oceana stands there -frozen with horror and fear- looking at the bloody mess I have made. Before she can run, shriek or do whatever she plans on doing, I leap at her, pinning her to the wall, and grip her throat with my one small hand. My knife is lodged into my last kill's chest, but I have no doubt I can tear her throat out with my hand if necessary. I have got sharp nails.

Oceana claws at my hands as she has problems breathing. _Duh. _I'm suffocating her. "I won't kill you," I whisper quietly. In fact -no matter how annoying she might be- she has some pretty good connections in the Capitol, and Cato and I need all the help we can get. "But then you have to keep your annoying mouth shut," I snarl meanly, but still lowly, and laughing the slightest. "And you _will _keep your mouth shut?" I ask, glaring at her with mocking spite.

She tries to answer but my hand prevents her from doing such, and she makes do with just nodding even though that too is difficult for her. "Great," I whisper, smirking evilly. "'Cause I promise you: the _second, _yes the very _second _I hear you've uttered so much as a word about Cato and I, you're dead." I tighten my grip on her throat, just to give her a little taste of what is to come if she rats us out. "Poof. Gone." I smile as I see her eyes starting to tear up.

"Well done." Cato's voice is hushed but yet pride is prominent. And the previous fury has noticeably lessened to become only a sliver of anger in his velvety voice.

He startles me as he speaks, as I was so focused on the fact that Oceana is practically about to pee herself in fear. I turn my head to pierce him with my eyes, as I still haven't forgiven him for being a bigger dick than usual, and he gives me that fucking smug smile. "_Why, thank you,_" I tell him sarcastically, my glare burning holes in him. He grins once more, and I shake my head, annoyed. "Fuck off," I tell him, but that infuriating tug of the corner of his lips is still plastered on his face.

"As you wish, princess." He smirks meanly and comes up behind me. "As for you," he addresses Oceana in his cold but yet so evilly taunting voice. "I believe you and Clove have come to an agreement?"

"We have, haven't we?" I dig my nails into her windpipes -drawing blood- and she claws yet again on my arm. As if I'm going to release her.

She tries to nod again. "Angel, you can let her go now. We've finished what we came for," Cato says. Unwillingly, I let her go and she runs gasping for air out of the room and disappears down the hallway.

Cato grabs my waist and pulls me close, and I don't even bother fighting him as he crushes his mouth against mine in a brutal kiss. Running his tongue along my lower lip, he asks for permission to enter -even though I'm still mad as fuck at him- and I willingly let him in, adrenaline and new-found bliss still pumping through my veins.

"You're covered in blood, angel," Cato says in between kisses and panting. It must be the last one I killed who sprayed his blood all over me. As I'm about to reply, voices are to be heard in the hallway. _Shit. _"Shit!" Cato says, mirroring my thoughts. "We need to get out of here." _No shit. _I look at him with heaved eyebrows, a clear sarcastic 'No, really?' expression plastered on my face.

We both go still to hear. The voices are too close. "We don't have the time," I whisper and roam the room with my eyes for a place to hide. The wardrobe. I point at it and Cato follows me in. Though the closet is pretty big it is now packed with clothes, Cato and me. Me who is being crushed by Cato's big form. He looks down at me and smirks arrogantly, bending down and parting my lips with his. The thrill of the situation; the threat of being caught makes it so much more exciting.

The voices shriek as the persons attached to them see my kills. They scream something incomprehensible to each other, definitely in Capitol accents, and run down the hallway. Cato and I break away from the kiss and run too. Silently we slip into the elevator, a delicious feeling of bliss settling in my stomach.

The elevator stops in Floor 2, and we think we have gotten away it. No such luck. The elevator opens and outside stands an angry and scowling Enobaria. "Where have you two been?"

_Well, shit._

...

Enobaria has always been quite intimidating. But an angry Enobaria is -to be frank- quite scary. Her eyes are glowering at us, and I have no doubt that if we make her angry enough she will flash her sharply shaped pinpoints of teeth.

Both Cato and I stand there not knowing what to say. "Yes?" she asks sternly. When still none of us answer she turns to me. "Care to tell me why you're covered in _blood_, Clove?"

"Um.." I say, at loss for words. "Someone bled on me." I want to slap myself for sounding so unbelievably lame. Cato's eyes are shining with mean amusement, and he coughs to cover the building laugh.

"And why did someone happen to just _bleed_ on you?" Her eyes bore into mine so piercingly that the pure intensity of them would have made a lesser being shrink away in fear. I mean, I almost have to look away myself. But I can see that she already knows what we did. Her fury isn't because she thinks it was bad, well, not for ethical reasons anyway. She knows if this ever got out, we would guaranteed suffer the consequences.

"Come with me," she says curtly. And I know that I better follow, not because I want to, but simply because it is for my own good. "This room is not being recorded. I've checked it myself." She narrows her eyes, and before I get to say anything she yells, "How the hell could you be so stupid? This-" She gestures to my bloody front. "-will ruin everything you two have worked for. How the fuck could you be so fucking brainless?"

Her rage is overwhelming. I'm used to dealing with Cato's tantrums, even occasionally my father's anger, but Enobaria's is one I don't know how I should react to. "They knew," Cato says coldly. "They would have ruined everything. We had no choice." Enobaria shakes her head so violently I'm afraid it will pop out of place.

"Of course you had a choice, you little prick! You could've chosen to control yourselves, but you had to be so unbelievably stupid, so fucking careless that you went and _killed _someone who bothered you! What the hell were you thinking? We're in the fucking Capitol, this is _not _fucking District 2. You can't get away with murder here, it's nothing like back home!"

Both Cato and I are stunned speechless. I don't want to admit it, but I am starting to think that this maybe wasn't such a good idea. She is right; this is the Capitol. Nobody here are brought up to be slaughtered. They get a free pass, a great shot at a fucking amazing life. And unlike back home, people committing murder here probably gets punished.

Suddenly Enobaria laughs, a loud manic laughter. "You know what? I'm fucking tired of this. I always have to watch all you fucking tributes go and do something stupid, causing so much trouble for yourselves! I always get the fucking stupid ones! I had higher expectations for the both of you! Especially you, Cato!" Enobaria used to be Cato's trainer, she is pretty much the reason that Cato is his great self. "You were my best trainee ever, and I thought you had a pretty good shot at winning. But now? No! You fucking dug your own grave there, son."

I open my mouth to say something, anything really. She fucking called us stupid! But now, when the violent rage is starting to fade, and the temporary fog of insanity is making its departure, I might agree with her on that fact.

"And the worst part is that you don't even realize it!" she continues, and glares straight at me. "Now, do you, Clove? Do you understand the consequences of this? I tried to warn you. I really tried to warn you, you stupid child. But you didn't listen!"

"What's the consequences?" I ask, keeping my voice low. As I'm afraid if I start screaming like her, I will aggravate her even more. She suddenly grabs a hold of my arms and slams my back into the wall. It feels weird that Cato isn't the one doing it, but my mentor whom I apparently have angered to the extreme. She brings her hand up to my neck, and clenches her hand around both my throat and jaw, forcing me to look at her. She isn't squeezing so hard that I will soon die from suffocation, but I find it incredibly hard to breathe, and I gasp for precious air.

Cato moves behind her, and I can see the hesitation on his face. He doesn't know what to do. His girlfriend is being beaten some sense into -or more strangled some sense into- by the only woman, the only _adult _he has ever had respect for. Or at least _enough_ respect for. "Don't even think about it, Cato," she growls as she hears him move behind her. "I need to get this into your little girlfriend's head, and you need to fucking listen too!"

The anger in Enobaria's eyes is overwhelming, and I grasp on her hand to try to pry it away from my throat. No such luck. "I'm listening," Cato says calmly, like he is afraid that if he makes a move forward, she will rip my throat out with her sharp teeth, like she did with the tribute who killed her love.

"You're both as good as fucking dead now, anyway," she snarls. "Snow surely knows already, and the punishment for killing someone in _his _precious city is fucking death. You painted a big, fat red x on your foreheads like fucking walking targets. You understand that, right? You're walking targets now, and I can't even begin to understand what made you kill them. Are you so fucking brainless you just did it for the thrill?"

"Trust me," Cato speaks up. "I had my reasons for killing Clove's bastard of a stylist. You don't know.. You don't fucking know what he did to her! She's mine, and he fucking touched her!" Cato is snarling now too, causing Enobaria to tighten her strangling grip. I gasp for air, and dig my nails into her hand. "Don't fucking hurt her. I fucking swear, Enobaria, if you leave a mark on her I'm gonna give you the same treatment as Clove's stylist."

Enobaria throws me away, and I barely manage to stand as she does it quite forcefully. And I try to suck in enough air, which again proves to be difficult as all I can seem to do is gasp. She whirls on him, and laughs that manic laugh of hers. "Are you threatening me, Cato?" Even though she is facing away from me now, I can imagine her flashing her fangs at him. "You got a lot of nerve, kid. After all, I'm your lifeline in that Arena."

The lingering feeling of disgust whirls in the pit of my stomach. As the bliss of sadism fades, the repulsion becomes more prominent. The feeling is so strong I feel nausea lurking -though the nausea also is a result from having my airways almost cut off- just waiting for me to retch whatever I ate for dinner up.

"Excuse me," she says, anger still painting her voice. "I have to go and do some fucking damage control. And I fucking swear, if you two get yourselves into trouble again, I'll finish you off myself. At least I'll have some fucking mercy." And with that last grumble, she exits the room.

I find Cato looking at me, the soft look of worry smothering his otherwise so angry features, making a funny expression on his face. "Clove.." he begins, but I cut him off angrily.

"Shut up," I snap, but my angry tone does nothing to keep him from approaching me. I lay my hand on his chest when he is within reach, to prevent him from coming even closer, and his eyes hardens in slight anger. "I'm gonna go shower this fucking blood off," I say, and I have to fight myself to not let out a defeated sigh. "Don't fucking follow me." And with that I exit the room too, leaving Cato by himself. Something which I know isn't a good idea, and it proves to be right as I hear a loud noise of something being smashed against the wall, followed by an angry groan.

Again, we have managed to fuck things up for ourselves. And this time it doesn't seem like it can be fixed.

...

The burning hot stream of water does nothing to calm my shaking. Without all the distractions, I have finally realized what he actually did to me. Humiliation burns in my cheeks, and I can't help but feel abused. No matter how much or how hard I scrub, the dirty-covered feeling won't vanish. It still lingers on my skin like a poisonous reminder of his sweaty hands caressing me in the most disgusting manner.

And the fact that both Cato and I are in trouble, no, we aren't in _trouble_, we are fucking dead, makes me want to slam my body into the shower and destroy every fucking thing in my way. Because this time, our insane lust for murder really messed things up. We weren't thinking clearly, neither of us. Usually Cato is the one to be rational, but he was the most enraged. Apparently, _nobody touches what's fucking his. _

It all seems so much more hopeless now. The killing should have made everything better! It was a way for us to let go off all the suppressed emotions, by turning them into rage and unleashing it in the violent way we grew up with. But even though the thrill of the kill made everything better for the slightest moment, it does not make the consequences anything I want to deal with. And I know Enobaria is right. The Capitol won't look easiy on this, and no matter how much they favor us from the other districts, it is still nothing here like back home.

I slump down to the tile-covered floor in the shower, hugging my knees to my chest and resting my head on them. The water splashes mercilessly on the pale skin of my back, spreading splotches of red as the hot water hits my flesh forcefully.

After staying like this for a while the water has more or less numbed my back, and the grieving thoughts have more or less numbed my mind. I find myself not caring. Numbness is good. A sick feeling is twirling inside and unease settles yet again in my stomach, and the numbness does unfortunately nothing to make that go away.

What did I do to deserve this? Why couldn't I prevent this violation of my own body? No matter how much I hate to admit it; it damaged me, and the feeling of brokenness feels so weak, and weakness feels so foreign. And why didn't I use my fucking brain? Why did I have to let the urge for revenge, the blinding rage steer me? Maybe I actually just am stupid, unable to think rationally? Cato has in his raging fits called me stupid more than once. Maybe he was fucking right? Not that it makes him any less dumb.

_I'm fucking weak_. The thoughts stings my mind, it almost hurts to think so. Clove Cavia has _never _been one to be weak. I can kill a man three times my size, how is this more scary than that? _Because I'm not afraid when I fight. Because when I fight the adrenaline chokes every ounce of fear out of my body. Because I'm born to be a murderer. _But the feeling of not being able to fight when facing someone who wants you harm is the scariest ever. Except maybe the fluttering feeling of a child inside of you._ That _is definitely the most scary thing ever.

Then suddenly the water stops slamming against my body, and I feel strong arms lift me. Cato holds me close to his chest, and doesn't care that it completely soaks his t-shirt. Not a single word escapes his lips as he carries me to bed, where he lays down, still with me in his arms. We lay there, neither of us uttering a word, without looking at each other. Or rather me refusing to look at him, I can feel his gaze lingering on me, and I bury my face in his t-shirt-clad chest.

But I won't cry, even though I still feel violated, even though my mind is so tired I just want to shut it down. Because I know that crying won't make anything better, it will only increase the growing feeling of being the weak, frail girl I know I'm not. The girl I'm trying to escape. But whether I like it or not; she is slowly catching up on me.


	7. When Bloodlust Is Fueled

7.

When Blood-lust Is Fueled

The dangerous occasion;

When blood-lust is fueled

Scream, scream loudly for more

Kill, kill like never before

* * *

><p>"<em>Blood, guts, fun with knives. Die for me and I'll die for you. Won't you die for me? And I'll die for you." Fun With Knives, Velvet Acid Christ<em>

* * *

><p>A feeling of falling overcomes me, and I wake with a violent start, almost jumping into a sitting position as I'm brutally torn out of the nightmare. This very nightmare has come around a lot lately – it has been haunting me my whole life. I have always had this ridiculous fear for falling through the air. Probably because my father threw me out of the window when I was seven, and in that moment when I flew toward the ground, seeing it nearing me, closer and closer, I realized that I was truly afraid to die.<p>

And it is that dreadful feeling which only comes of fear of death that always finds me when I'm suddenly falling in my nightmares. Like someone decides to put a never-ending abyss in my path. As I fall I can't feel anything but the gut-wrenching fear. Fear for what lays ahead deep down in the dark. Fear for hitting the ground that _has _to lurk down there somewhere. Fear for death. But I never hit the ground, and I never die – I always wake before it happens. But I also fear the sounds echoing off the walls of the never-ending hole; my father's haunting laughter, and a baby's endless cries.

The nightmare sat my stomach in unease, and the nausea seem to be strengthened as I remember past evening's happenings. I shut my eyes close, and try to breathe myself calm again. So far, no luck. As I concentrate on holding onto my stomach's content, a warm hand strokes my exposed back. It startles me out of my concentrated trance, and I jump slightly under the slight weight of his calloused hand.

"Angel?" Cato murmurs, still half asleep. "Everything okay?" he growls softly, even though both him and I know that nothing is even near being _okay. _He lets his hand rest on my bare back and I hug the blanket to my naked chest.

I turn and give him a quick peck on the lips. "Sure." I wrap the blanket around my whole body, making it look like a long strapless dress as I stand up. "I'm gonna go shower," I inform him.

"You showered last night," he says coldly. His eyes are tinted with vague suspicion and his eyebrows are heaved. What? Does he have a _problem _with showering now?

"Yeah." I'm not planning on giving him an explanation. Simply because I don't feel like worrying him. He doesn't need to know that the reason is I can still feel Bartholomew's hands on me, and that the dirt-covered feeling still lingers so strongly. He doesn't need another reason to worry about his already half-crazed girlfriend.

Without another word, I stalk into the bathroom, fully aware of my man's eyes resting on my blanket-clad form as I strut away. The shower is burning hot, and I force myself to stand under the painful stream. I can almost feel the germs being slapped away, and my skin's top layer almost breaks from the forceful water.

After scrubbing away enough of the dirty feeling for my own satisfaction, I step out of the shower and gratefully welcome the cool air I'm met by, which soothes the burning of my still hot skin. I dry my hair by laying my hand on some sort of box, which sends these electric thingies throughout my body, ending with my scalp. It leaves my hair hanging like a soft wavy curtain around my face, and spilled all the way over my back.

Cato is doing push-ups as I walk into the room again. Tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead as the familiar grunts of effort fills the room. I love the way his muscles bulges with every move. "Like what you see, angel?" he asks arrogantly with a mean smirk gracing his lips, obviously having noticed me staring.

Instead of answering (It will certainly feed his already way too large ego) I smirk at him and turn to survey the closet for any appropriate training wear. After a while of staring uncomprehendingly into the dark of the wardrobe, and actually recognizing all of the shiny and sparkly clothing, I pull out an ordinary looking pair of tight-fitting shorts and a plain t-shirt.

They remind me of the clothes I use to workout in at home, and a fake feeling of familiarity and comfort settles around me. Beside the unknown surroundings, it feels like a normal day back in District 2. Where Cato would sometimes spend the night at my house -or I at his apartment- and we would get ready and then go training.

After pulling on the shorts, I find myself noticing something missing. I stare miserably down at my bare chest, and notice the evident problem. My breasts have always been in the way when I train, as they always seem to bounce to wherever suits them best. With a soft mix between a growl and a sigh, I dive into the closet again, determined to find something to keep my two external parts in check.

Eventually -after having scattered clothes all over the floor- I find a sports bra. Cato snickers behind me as he sees me trying to fit it over my annoyingly big breasts. "Both you and I know that won't fit." I don't even bother to turn to face him; I know exactly which expression is plastered on his handsome face. Cato tends to get really amused whenever I'm faced with something annoying, which is the exact reason he likes to tease me about everything: he loves to see me annoyed.

"Shut it," I snap, and tear the little piece of too-tight fabric off. Frustration flows through me like a flooding river. Why can't just this simple little shitty thing go _my _way? It is like fate has decided to torment me as much as possible before I die. And the clock of the sad remnants of my life is ticking faster and faster. Like a final countdown. Tick tock, tick tock. Soon Clove is going to die. Tick tock.

The frustration is igniting something deep within. Not the anger. No, anger is waiting to be unleashed when it finally has bottled up enough. The frustration is stirring the devastation, and poking the mental exhaustion. And it is the frustration that brings weak, desperate tears to my eyes.

Is this it? Are all the annoying feelings whirling inside me finally surfacing? Are the desperate emotions haunting me -those which I try my best to escape- finally leading to a mental breakdown? Am I submitting to weakness, embracing it as an old friend? No. Clove Cavia is _not_ fucking weak.

With all the last remnants of self-control I can muster, I force the few tears that sprung to my eyes back. There will be no tears leaking from my eyes today what so ever. Not now, not ever. Careers do not cry, no matter how much pressure they are under. And that is exactly what I am; a heartless, unfeeling Career.

With a sigh I throw the mocking garment into the black deep of the seemingly unending wardrobe. Cato chuckles under his breath – still amused by my frustration. I whirl at him, remembering to cover my chest as I turn, being that I will feel a little ridiculous for yelling at him almost naked. "It's _not _funny, Cato!" I growl at him.

Cato sees my glare and holds his arms up in mock-surrender, still laughing meanly. "As you wish, angel." Frowning at the nick-name, I grumble a not so nice one back. I want to punch him so badly in his smug face, I want to hear him grunt in satisfying pain.

He flings himself down on the bed as I stumble into the closet, yet again. Eventually ducking out, and clothed in a fitting one this time. I hastily drag the black top on, before giving Cato a quick glare, which -of course- makes the low, mean snickering erupt again. Without waiting for my irritating man, I stride out of the room. But Cato easily catches up with me and grabs me roughly from behind by grasping my waist, and holding it tightly in his possession. "You're so hot when you're mad," he growls huskily in my ear, causing shivers to run down my spine, not that I will ever let him know – of course.

"Well, I'm about to get fucking sexy!" I say in a low growling voice, and he pushes me rather roughly against the wall before pressing his large body into my small one, and I'm not going to protest even though he has made it his life goal to annoy the living crap out of me.

He lowers his head until his mouth lingers beside my ear; "You're always fucking-" His voice is a low grumbling murmur, and I struggle to keep myself calm as his stubbly chin brushes against my cheek. "-sexy," he whispers, dragging out the words while he blows hot air on the spot beneath my ear where he knows I'm ticklish, at which I involuntary squeal.

"Cato!" I hiss, though through very Clove-unlike giggles. And no matter how hard I try to choke that fucking giggling, I just can't seem to help it. As we both know: I'm unbelievably ticklish, and that is something he never lets me forget, and he often uses it against me.

"Oh, angel," he whispers playfully in my ear, and kisses my ticklish spot which of course makes me squeal even more and I try to squirm out of his grip. My effort to stay serious falters miserably. "You know you love it," he murmurs against my neck, and I can't fight the urge to roll my eyes. Classic Cato.

…

"Just to make one thing clear," says Enobaria, looking at both Cato and me sternly, the anger from last night obviously not having made its full departure. And her strict, no-bullshit voice makes me feel like she is trying to force the importance of what she is saying into our heads. "You are under no circumstance going to attack a tribute. I mean it. Especially since you did every single one of the other things I forbid you to do. This is the last time I'll say it; you have to be careful."

"But-" I say.

"No buts." Enobaria raises her voice, and I know she will soon start yelling. "You are not to cause anymore trouble, are we clear?"

"I-" I try again.

"Are we clear?" she interrupts, her voice filled with authority. And I get what she is getting at, but it isn't like I'm _trying_ to get in trouble. It is just that trouble seems to follow me wherever I go.

"Yes," I say solemnly, meeting her lingering glare. And Cato, who is sitting beside me at the breakfast table nods in agreement. After all, she is our mentor, and she is supposed to know best.

"Good," she says, though she still sounds angry. "Now we'll talk strategy," she announces. "I want to know.. Even though I have watched you two from the second you got admitted into the Training Center, and certainly know it myself. But I want to know what you see as your own weaknesses." The bread I have been eating gets stuck in my throat with her words, and I start coughing like a maniac. Weaknesses? I have never heard of such things. We never learn about those in the Training Center – only strength, power, brute. No _weaknesses._

Both Cato and I go silent. I can list all my strengths, but I don't have any weaknesses. Clove Cavia isn't weak. She doesn't have any weaknesses. She can't afford that. Cato looks just as perplexed and frustrated as me. "Define 'weaknesses'," he says at last, and I know that he is thinking the exact same thing as me; we are born Careers, we don't hold any weakness.

My father seizes the opportunity to open his mouth for the first time today, "A weakness is a vulnerability. It's your Achilles' heel. A chink in your armor." My father shakes his head, like we are ignorant children that just asked the most stupid question. "It's your flaws. Your imperfections." He bores his eyes into mine, his gaze holding nothing but a faint, dull blankness. But that is nothing new: he has never looked at me like a father should look at his daughter. No, he always looks at me like I'm a negligible object. He was never my father.

"I think we get it," I say as he opens his mouth to continue. My imperfections? Uh, well, I do have a slightly crooked tooth, and my breasts are way too big for the rest of my body.. But something tells me this isn't what they are fishing for. They want imperfections that can be the reason to my getting killed. But those reasons are non-existent, as I simply won't get killed.

"Okay," Enobaria says as she realizes we aren't going to say anything, looking back and forth between us. "Let's do this instead." She trails her narrowed, almost black eyes on Cato. "Cato, what's Clove's biggest weakness?"

My man looks at her incredulously, before his gaze rolls over to rest on me. His eyes shines in uncertainty, as if he is debating whether or not to tell me whatever he means is my biggest weakness. Raising my eyebrows, I dare him to say something. Cato catches my dare and that smug, mean smile creeps onto his lips, which again makes me narrow my eyes. "Clove's biggest weakness has to be her temper."

He _knew _that would anger me. Being easily angered does _not _make me weak. Only the slightest bit unpredictable.. Cato watches carefully for my reaction, still with that ridiculously arrogant smirk plastered on his infuriating face. I snort indelicately, aiming a perfected glare of malice in his direction. "Cato's biggest weakness is his confidence," I snap back. Irritated by him, and how the anger seems to creep further through me as I try to make it go away.

"There's nothing wrong with being confident," he shoots at me, frowning in that way he does when he tries not to show what emotions which are tugging on him.

"You aren't confident," I say. "You're _overly_-confident. You're fucking arrogant. And _that _can get you killed."

Cato snorts, a snort that has a really strong resemblance to a growl. "At least I can control my temper." Well, _I _wasn't the one who just let out an almost-growl. Though my temper strikes faster and harder, his is never far behind. In fact, his follows incredibly quick after my anger blows up in a furious tornado.

I shake my head, and open my mouth to voice my cruel retort as Enobaria interrupts the growing argument, "Your strengths?" she says, almost seeming bored with our usual bickering.

His eyebrows rises cockily, and his previous snappiness is replaced by arrogance. Before answering, he turns his head and grins cheekily at me as he winks. With a frown, I roll my green eyes at him as I can't help it, not when his endless teasing is so familiar. And the fact that we still are dangling challenges in front of each other, proves that we have not lost ourselves just yet. If it is something Cato can't withstand, it is a challenge, and me alike. In fact, that was the foundation of our whole so-called _relationship_.

"Wait," Enobaria says. "Do each other's strengths instead." Cato's face falls as he realizes he doesn't get to boast of himself, causing an invisible smirk to surface on mine. "Clove, begin."

After him teasing me, complementing him isn't exactly what I want. Complementing him just doesn't feel right, not when the only thing we do is insult each other. And especially as he thinks it is _hilarious _whenever I suck up my pride to actually say something nice. He is after all; an arrogant prick. But I guess it can't really boost his ego anymore, as it has already reached its way too high limits. "Brawn and brain," I say after a while. "He's strong, and he knows how to use weapons. While he's smarter than most of the other tributes, even if it really doesn't seem like it." Cato grins cheekily at me and shakes his head in faint amusement.

I wait in surprisingly eager anticipation as he opens his mouth to voice whatever thoughts he has of my strengths. "Clove never misses when throwing a knife. _Never._ She's flexible and puts on quite the challenge when fighting hand-to-hand. And she has the most vicious plotting mind." I allow the faintest grin as the last sentence escapes his mouth. In other words; I enjoy the feeling of blood on my hands.

"Good," Enobaria says. "Now I want you both to intimidate the competition as much as possible. Cato, show off your brutal force. Clove, make them fear you with your knives. And for your own sakes; don't do anything that can qualify as stupid. That does, indeed, include fighting with other tributes, public display of affection, and what do you learn in the Training Center?"

"No mercy," Cato and I say in unison. That is the motto we grew up with. The one I was taught by my father when he started training me as a bloodthirsty killer already at the age of six. The one they repeat whenever I am in the training center, and are hammering into the brain of all our district's youth. The one thing I won't have any trouble following, as Clove Cavia does simply _not _do mercy.

My attention is suddenly drawn to the cup of coffee standing in front of me, smelling weirdly. I can swear on my life that it didn't smell this repulsive two seconds ago. Or was I just too busy to notice it? Anyway, the smell makes me nauseous, and I have the urge to retch all over the place. Fucking Capitol and its weird smells. After just concentrating on my breathing for a while, it gets better. But I still shove the cup of ill-smelling liquid away. Hopefully, I won't catch a whiff of it again.

"The one thing you two forgot when listing your weaknesses was each other," my father says abruptly, causing me a surprise as whenever he is in the room I'm just trying to suppress his presence. And I obviously manage a lot of the time, being that I had totally forgotten he was still sitting here with us. "You are each other's biggest weakness, and if you can't let that go I'm afraid District 2 won't have a victor this year."

A look of defiance crosses Cato's face, a look I know far too well, and promises no good what so ever. In fact, that scary, defiant look on his features promises blood spilled, and broken bones. "District 2 won't have _a _victor. It will have two," he says in a great suggestion of his own deranged truth, planting his palms forcefully on the table, as he almost dares my father to say something else. A dare which my father -of course- decides to take.

"And how are you supposed to manage that, you foolish boy?" A evil glint has taken form in my father's eyes. And I know he possesses the skill to really make my man furious. Especially as Cato absolutely despises to be called _boy, _and to be honest; the taunting nick-name suits him rather badly. Just look at him; nothing says boy about his great form, and handsome appearance.

"We'll give them the best games they've ever had. We'll make them love us so much they can't let us go." And in that second I really come to believe we can, only because of the firm authority and obvious belief in his deep voice. That they will make an exception in the rules for us; the ruthless _lovers_ of District 2.

"Looks like you're running out of time. District 12 already stole the spotlight," my father drawls in that taunting tone of his. But yet I can't help but think that my father's mean voice is speaking the truth.

"District 12 has got nothing on us!" Cato roars, to my surprise. He has been trying quite hard lately, to keep himself in check, and it seems like my father has a special talent for getting under everyone's skin. By being the dreaded itch nobody can scratch. "They're weak! They're District _12_. They aren't worth anyone's time. And as soon we get to the Arena the Capitol will see that we are the ones who deserve to go home." The carefully hidden desperation in his voice, which I'm the only one who owns the skill to recognize, puts a fire in my chest, one which can't be extinguished.

"Just stick to the strategy, boy. Take it from someone with experience; Clove isn't worth it. Are you really willing to risk your promising future, bathing in fame, fortune and ladies, just to save her?" And believe me; that is a question I have asked myself a lot. _He deserves better, _the evil voice in the back of my mind whispers. _So much better._

I stare incredulously at my father, my tongue paralyzed in shock, even though I know surprise shouldn't find me this way. Speechless, I feel the anger stir, only because he is voicing the merciless truth, until it whirls within me, and then blows into a full storm. The sharp, hot wind of anger slams at my insides, and all I can do is focusing on keeping the wind locked deep within. If I let it out now, I'm not sure what will happen, but it won't for sure be anything pleasant. It never is when I lose myself on the path of crazy.

With the agility of a girl who has been trained since she was six, I leap onto my feet and fling myself onto my father, only to be caught by Cato mid-air. His hand -which is grasping harshly at my waist- is shaking in barely contained anger, and I have no doubt that he soon will be consumed by the rage he is trying to calm me down from. He shoves my struggling body into Enobaria and says, "Get her out of here." He turns his cold glare to my father, and I'm afraid he will do something he really will regret, as I'm not the only one with anger management issues.

Enobaria holds a cold glare herself -also directed at my father- as if to tell him to behave. Then she grips my shoulders in an arm-breaking hold, and pushes me toward the door. The only thing I hear before I'm completely out of ear-shot is; "Look, old man..." Something that is obviously uttered by my angry boyfriend, whom is growling in that furious voice no one understands anything of if he only gets angry enough.

"We'll go training," Enobaria declares, and pushes me into the elevator as I make a final, faint attempt on fighting back. The truth is; I don't want to go back. Even if it is to kill my bastard of a father. I just can't stand his mocking face, and I bet that even death can't slap that gruesome smirk of off his face, or put his ever so mocking laugh out of my deranged head. "Breathe Clove," Enobaria says as she sees my struggle with controlling the shaking that comes with fury. Breathing doesn't help. I need blood. I need death and destruction brought by my own hands. But most of all I need the assurance that Cato will always be by my side, no matter what. All of these things which I need the most, are unfairly something I can't have.

"Clove," Enobaria orders in that fearsome voice of authority. "Breathe." I force myself to take a deep breath, but anger has taken such a hold of me I'm struggling to control what has turned into heavy panting. "You know how to control it." Enobaria grabs both my arms in a surprisingly strong grip. "Look at me," she commands, and for once I obey her. "Now, close your eyes and count to ten." My breath ripples shallowly through the elevator she pushed me in, echoing in the elevator's small walls. "Slowly."

I close my eyes in a vague effort to keep out the feeling of wanting to choke someone. _One_. This is ridiculous. _Two. _How is this supposed to work? _Three. _I feel stupid. _Four. _I have never been good at counting. _Five. _This is going way to slow. _Six. _Why am I doing this again? _Seven. _Is it working yet? _Eight. _I think it is. _Nine. _My breathing _has _slowed. _Ten. _I find it actually -in a weird and indescribable way- helping. I'm not calm – not anywhere near. But I think Enobaria's method must have worked, to a certain extent anyway. I still feel like ripping someone's throat out -let us face it, I always feel like ripping someone's throat out- but I know that -at least for right now- I can control the otherwise so overpowering grip my anger has on me.

I open my eyes again to find Enobaria glancing down at me, a frown visible on her otherwise so smooth forehead. "Are you okay?" she asks and I nod. "It worked, didn't it? At least a bit? I was having problems controlling my temper myself at your age. Always worked for me."

"It worked. A little," I tell her. But only _a little. _I just need to see Cato and then everything will be fine. Just perfectly _fine_. I just need his assurance, his voice -the one he only makes soft for me- and his hot touch.

"Good," says Enobaria. "Now I want you in there scaring them. Try to make allies. Trust me, you'll need them. Find out their strengths, their weaknesses. And no matter what you do-"

"-don't get into a fight," I interrupt. "I got it." But what I know and what I feel is two different things. If someone was to anger me when I'm in this mood already, I don't know what will happen. Knowing myself; not anything pleasant.

"Now, go," she commands and pushes me out the elevator and into a big room. My eyes widen as I see the greatness before me: the room has _everything_. No matter if you want to improve your knowledge with plants, or your skills with weapons - it is all there. Speaking of weapons; I can't seem to take my eyes of the haven of beauty laying before me; the knife station. Where you can find a knife in every size ever wanted. Sharp. Dangerous. Fatal. Knives – my second love.

I want nothing else than to run over to my beloved sharp friends, and embrace them with that non-existent love held in my body. Knives need love too. But a tall woman summons every tribute that has arrived, and starts talking about training and _blah blah blah_. I don't really listen, as I'm too busy changing between glaring spitefully at my competition, to gazing love-filled at the knives, to glancing longingly at the elevator door. Just awaiting the arrival of my most likely infuriated man.

Cato suddenly comes up beside me, and I did not notice because of the knives calling for me with their alluring voices. He looks at me, his stance says arrogance impersonated, even though fury still finds a way of showing too. I can see the faint amusement shining in his deep blue eyes as he follows my gaze to the place it constantly and automatically seeks.

The woman finishes talking -finally- and I grin wickedly at Cato before I stride toward heaven. Well, my definition of heaven anyway. He shakes his head slowly, like he tries not to laugh, and lets a faint grin cross his lips before he joins Marvel -was that his name?- on the spear-throwing station. As I reach my destination, I'm overwhelmed by how many knives there are. Home in District 2 there were a lot of options to choose in between, but it can't even begin to compare to the collection laying before me now.

A small and slightly curved throwing knife catches my eye, and I gingerly pick it up. Weighing it carefully in my hand, before I twirl it around a bit, testing it. Then, with a motion as fast as an attacking hawk and as graceful as a slinking cat, I throw it, and watch as it beautifully flies through the air in that familiar and oh so satisfying way. It hits just where I aimed; the dummy's heart.

I never miss. _Never._

One of the trainers eyes me impressed, and challenges me to throw many in a row. I have never been one to back down from a challenge, and my blood-lust fuels itself every time I pick up a knife and perfectly hit the target. The movements are so familiar, so practiced to perfection my body does them automatically and without even thinking. Joy consumes me, and I feel a vicious grin creep onto my face. _This _is what makes me dangerous. I'm not the delicate, pretty little flower everybody who hasn't seen me in action assume I am. _This _is what makes me the bloodthirsty, monstrous Clove.

As I stop after a dozen of knives or so, I find everybody watching me. I can feel the weight of their heavy gazes on me – fear, jealousy and surprise being only a couple of the expressions they are wearing. Everyone except Cato is appalled. My handsome boyfriend smirks at me and winks before turning back to the spears. He is getting quite a lot attention himself.

My world becomes a blur of knives and bliss, and I find the distraction welcome. Shamefully, I know I haven't thought about my doomed fate these last couple of hours. It is surprisingly relieving to escape the desperate thoughts that has haunted my mind ever since the Reaping four days ago. Was it really four days ago? It feels like so much longer. But also guilt consumes me: I'm not supposed to feel bliss now, no matter what causes it. I shouldn't be allowed to feel like this, even though it is my precious knives which makes me feel glad, which creates the distraction. I shouldn't feel anything beside the raw anguish consuming me. But I do.

I'm despicable.

At lunch I sit beside Cato and the other Career tributes. Glimmer sits on my other side, chatting enthusiastically with the District 4 girl -whom I can't remember the name of- about their chariot outfits. Blah, _girl-talk_.

Cato discusses something with the other guys of the Career pack. It is funny really, how he has got them wrapped around his little finger like that. He is throwing a dangerous glare here, a manipulative remark there, and the two boys can't seem hide their fear and admiration of him. He clearly just became the self-promoted leader of us.

I try to slide in with the surroundings, and avoid being noticed as the wallpaper I really am. Cato talks well enough on his own. In fact, I would probably ruin it with randomly insulting someone. But hey, it isn't my fault they are always giving me reasons to insult their dumb faces. The District 4 boy -I can remember introducing myself to him, but not his actual name- doesn't let me though, as he turns and talks to me, causing me to inwardly sigh.

"Wow, Clove. The way you threw those knives was amazing." I can feel Cato's possessiveness coming to life beside me. He leans forward, leaving every single one of us very aware of how his muscles bulge with the threatening motion.

Slowly, with an arrogant expression on my face I ask, "And who are you again?" I can see the corners of Cato's mouth quirk up a little as I utter those words.

"I'm Jordan, remember?" he says. Obviously a little annoyed I can't remember him. Red creeps onto his face, exposing his embarrassment to all of us.

"Actually, I don't remember," I retort rudely. What is the point in being nice to your future preys?

He gives up trying to make conversation with me and I sit back in silence, crossing my hands over my chest in a defensive and threatening motion until they let us go back to training again. The rest of the day, I just try and keep myself occupied. I can't think of what will happen to Cato and I.

We are the cursed lovers of District 2. We are forced to play the game, knowing that there is no way to avoid game over. And when the game is over, I will either be dead, or wish I was. Because the odds were never in our favor. We were doomed from the start.

Finally -after many sweaty hours- they announce that training is done for today. As everybody stream to the elevators, I can see Cato walking suspiciously slow in front of me. And I hurry to catch up with him. As we reach the elevators they are all already gone, and we have to wait for the next one in our usual silence.

"You intimidated quite a few today," Cato murmurs quietly. His voice distant, and gaze absent. Did I miss something?

"You weren't too bad yourself," I murmur back. Usually he would smirk and taunt me endlessly for complementing him, before -and he _always _does this- coming to the conclusion that I'm right. Well, I am _always _right. But anyway, this isn't him. He doesn't not acknowledge compliments. It doesn't lay in his nature, his ego has made sure of that.

The elevator trip is unbearably long with the tense silence surrounding us. He isn't acting like himself and it is starting to scare me, and eat at my already frail nerves. "Why won't you talk to me?" I ask him, eyeing his reaction carefully.

He seems confused as he looks down at me. His forehead set in a frown, and it looked like he just realized I'm actually still here. "What? Did you say something?"

"No. But I can actually hear what I'm thinking in this tense silence. And due to the circumstances that's _not _a good thing. In fact, it never is. No matter the circumstance. Stop acting like I'm not here." I know I'm rambling, but the urge to fill the silence threatens to choke me. The tension is so thick in the air, it can be cut with a knife, and all I want to do is to go back and retrieve one of those beautiful blades and just cut the awful tension away.

"Relax, I'm not ignoring you," he says absentmindedly, and the fact that he kisses my sweaty forehead, alarms me to the point where I'm truly worried about him. He doesn't say anything more, and I give up. He obviously has something he should have said, and I know he will give me a piece of his mind whenever he is ready.

He used to do this back home, too: ignoring me if he didn't want to talk. But even though that is still the same, I can still see that us both being reaped has changed him. Now he is so caring, kind almost. He has always had a soft spot for me, but now it is like he is walking on glass around me, like I might snap if he makes a too abrupt motion. The thing is; he almost hasn't said a word to me without thinking it through these last couple of days. And that is one of the main reasons we fought a lot back home; that he never thought before he spoke. Without our constant fighting it seems so peaceful. It is a rare feeling.

We walk silently down the corridor, and he mumbles something about seeing me soon as I slip into my room for a quick shower. I'm really starting to worry about what is on his mind, as I'm almost sure it is something I won't like.

Dinner is awkward. With both my father -who hates me with a burning passion- and Oceana -who is so scared of me that she jumps whenever I move- at the table, it is doomed to be, right?

Enobaria seems rather unfazed by the awkwardness, and continues talking strategy. "Did you make any allies today?"

"Yep. They're all in. And no thanks to Clove."

I raise my one eyebrow delicately. "Excuse me?"

"Come on. Your only contribution was insulting District 4. Who by the way got quite embarrassed." Cato chuckles at the memory. No trace of the previous distraught and absence on his face. He actually smirks playfully at me.

"He had it coming," I answer curtly, with a faint frown, and not willing to play his game tonight. I'm not in the mood. And sometimes his mood swings really gets me confused. He is worse than a PMS-ing girl.

"We scared a lot of them though. Clove really showed off her knife skills. Everybody was staring at her in awe. Myself included, even though I've seen it a million times." First he is pointing out what I did wrong. Then what I did right. Is it weird that I am confused out of my mind? "And people saw my skills with spears and swords. I think I scared them good." He ends it with a confident grin. The one that says, 'I'm fucking great, and I know it'.

When we are done eating, I excuse myself and walk back to my room. I'm surprisingly tired, and I find it quite strange. How I trained today isn't far from how I train at home, and then I never get this tired. Maybe I was just performing better, pushing myself harder, we did after all have an audience.

When I get inside, I fling myself onto the bed, still fully clothed. The mattress is unbelievably soft, and the pillows are gently caressing my face. I'm about to fall asleep as a knock is to be heard on the door. "Clove, it's me," Cato growls.

"I'm sleeping," I grunt. Annoyed that he had all this time to talk to me, but instead he chose to ignore me. And when I finally am ignoring him back, he decides that he actually wants to talk. Mood-swings much? I think so.

"You aren't. Let me in." His voice is serious, which alarms me beyond the imaginable. If it is one thing Cato is not, it is serious. "We need to talk."

_Uh-Oh.. _That doesn't sound good.


	8. When Confessions Scare

Author's note: This chapter might have been the single most infuriating thing I have ever written. Not only did I become totally unsatisfied with the result the first time I wrote it so I had to rewrite the whole thing, but when I had written about half of the new chapter, my computer blacked and _everything _was gone. It still pisses me off.

And yeah, I know that whole 'I'm going to update every Friday blah blah blah' failed miserably. Most things have a bad habit of happening not exactly my way, and I've dealt with some shit these last weeks. And for those who read this story before I started rewriting it, and knows that was the reason I had to take a break: I'm not going anywhere this time. I'll finish this story, no matter what.

Shameless advertising: i want my cake and i wanna eat it too. tumblr .com (without the space.. of course) - yeah, I've made myself a tumblr where I post stuff I write. I still am kind of clueless when it comes to tumblr, and I don't really understand shit..

Anyway.. So sorry for the delay, and enjoy! Love all of you!

- Drea

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><p>8.<p>

When Confessions Scare

The frightening moment;

When confessions scare

Be my passionate lover

And I will be your lucky clover

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><p>"<em>Remember those walls I built? Well, baby they're tumbling down. They didn't even put up a fight. They didn't even make a sound." Halo, Beyonce<em>

* * *

><p>With a sigh, I rise from the bed and unlock the door, opening it just enough to catch a small glimpse of him. "Yes?" I say, raising my eyebrows, and narrowing my eyes meanly into tiny slits. "Be brief. I'm going back to sleep," I announce, being still very annoyed with him.<p>

"Clove," he growls, but the usual hostility which paints his voice in such a vivid color, has dulled remarkably, and he sounds like he have not slept in days. Through the crack I can see him dragging a hand through his already messy hair impatiently, tugging at it in frustration as all I can seem to do is stare at him through the narrow slit of the door. "Let me in." It is not a suggestion, it is a command. And knowing Cato, he will not be happy if I do not obey his every wish.

Opening the door fully, I cross my arms over my chest and stick my chin out in obvious defiance. I make no move what so ever to get out of his way, and the only thing he is doing, is looking down at me with that blank, unreadable expression plastered on his serious face. It is like all emotions have been drained from his brawny body, and left him an empty shell of the scary and angry being he really is.

An intense staring competition breaks out between us, and I am determined to not be the first one to give in. And I'm not, as Cato eventually reaches out for my hands, grabbing my wrists roughly and tightly, as if to give me the message that nothing of his definition of bullshit will be accepted from me now. He pushes me -rather gently to be Cato- into the room, before closing the door behind him.

The blank look occupying his features, is a mask, one which he is withholding greatly at that. But he is my Cato – I know him, and I can see the lack of the usual coldness in his eyes. His brilliant blue eyes holds such vivid emotions, and Cato seldom lets his feelings show, as he keeps them buried deep within to be the brutal slaughterer he is. It scares me to see my otherwise so cold man struggle with emotions like this – bad, painful ones.

His grip is tight around my wrists, and his body is so close to mine, but yet so far away. I need his body crushed against mine, I need our bare skin to touch, I need to feel him inside of me. I can feel his hot breath hitting my forehead as his chest heaves forcefully with the sigh escaping his lips. "Clove," he breathes brokenly. The hint of despair, and the lack of nastiness in his whisper alarms me, and I am afraid of what is to come. Because Cato never sounds _broken_; he is always the strong one.

The intensity in his blue eyes makes my breathing go faster, and my forehead is set in a frown as I peer up at him. We wind up just staring at each other, both hiding our emotions from the other, both at loss for words. Because what do you say to the only person who cares about you when you know that one of you will die? There aren't any words for what we are going through. There aren't any words to describe this cruel feeling destroying me from the inside. There aren't any words which can make any difference anymore, because in the end, we are both doomed for damage beyond repair.

Then suddenly -in a motion quicker than I have ever seen him move- he has me pinned against the wall, easily fulfilling my wish of his body crushed against mine. He is breathing heavily -almost panting- and his eyes flashes wildly -_madly_- as he hold my gaze with his. Cato is usually so sure of himself, his eyes are always filled with cold arrogance. But now his otherwise so hostile gaze is smothered by a rare confusion, a strange hesitation.

After a while of that tense, strange staring, Cato slams me against the wall again. He still has that tight hold on my wrists, and he slams my arms into the wall too, at each side of my head. All I can do is staring up at him, and wonder if this violent slamming actually has a purpose, or if he is really losing himself. And as he speaks -as he _growls-_ confusion settles in me for real, along with a faint surprise, "I hate you," is what he spits so hatefully at me.

With a small frown on my forehead, I stare at him, dumbfounded, confused, and the slightest bit shocked. "I fucking hate you, Clove, you have no idea," he continues ever so spiteful, though his troubled face conveys a slightly different story. "You make me.. I don't know how you do it, but you make me _weak, _and I fucking hate you for it." Understanding is slowly dawning on me, and I wait for him to over-win the turmoil he is fighting on his face, and continue with whatever he needs to get off his cold heart. "You have no idea how _frustrating _it is to _need _you, Clove. You are ruining every fucking thing I have ever worked for, and I despise you for having the ability to make me this _pathetic_."

His grip tightens drastically around my wrists, and I grit my teeth against the sharp pain, determined to not let him see how his strong grasp hurts me, though we both know he can snap my wrist like a twig if he wanted to. Then he suddenly lets go of my arm -to my rather big relief- but instead wraps his one hand around my throat. His grip -rather gentle to be Cato- will not kill me anytime soon, but the feeling of suffocation still will not make its departure. He brings his other hand up to my face, and strokes my cheek lightly with his finger, tracing the cheekbone with an ever so soft touch.

"I want to break you, Clove," he whispers in a low, husky and growling voice. As he says so, his eyebrows knits in a frown and his mouth grows grim, making the frustration and anger prominent on his face. "I want to break, and hurt, and tear you apart, _so badly. _I want to make you scream, angel," he whispers, and the finger he is running gently over my lips, makes shivers go down my spine. But those shivers might also be ones created by his words – those cruel, but yet so satisfying and beautiful words. "I want to. And sometimes I try. I-I've tried so many times, angel, to break you. But it's like this _force_ which I don't understand, that holds me back. I _can't _break you. No matter how much I want to. I _can't._"

Cato loosens his tight grasp on my small neck, and I let out a tiny, almost inaudible gasp for air. A small smirk graces his lips as he hears the escaping sound coming from me. "Sometimes I hurt you 'cause it feels good. But later, when I see those bruises and cuts I made on your body, I hate myself for it. I love to hurt you, angel, but I can't stand to see you hurt." He is growling now, the frustration of the confession is slowly getting to him.

"I want to do sick things to you, angel. And that is how I'm brought up. I'm supposed to want to do sick things to people – it makes me the monster I am. But _you. You _are the one I can't do those sick things to, 'cause I need you, angel. I might be a monster, but I need you, even though I hate you for making me less the monster I need to be." He cups my cheeks in his calloused hands, much rougher than needed. "You do things to me that I don't understand, and you make me throw away my pride, my victory, my everything – for _you_. The only thing I know is that I won't let you die, angel, 'cause that'll kill me, too. My only weakness is that..-" He sighs almost inaudible. His eyes finally having calmed from the tornado of emotions earlier, and they rest on me with a calm look of something resembling defeat. "-..I-I love you, Clove. No matter how fucking much I hate you for being the bitch that makes me this fucking powerless... I love you, little girl. And I need you to live, angel." After a bit of a struggle, he manages to get the last words out, "I need you to win for the both of us. And I'll make sure you do."

I am speechless. It is like someone has glued my tongue to the insides of my mouth, and it can not get loose, no matter how hard I try to free it. The shock hits me forcefully in the face, and makes every rational thought I ever held just slip out of my mind. Blankness washes over me like a suffocating wave of water, and numbs my mind, my body, and my ability to move. All I can seem to do is staring incomprehensibly at him, causing that frown of frustration to grow larger, and larger on his forehead. "Wha-at?" I finally manage to get out, though my voice is a strange strangled croak of my usual coldness. I watch as Cato's face grows a bit more frustrated, a bit more angry.

He laughs sarcastically after a while of strained silence, startling me with the loud, cold pitch. "Are you gonna make me say it again, Clove? Isn't twice enough for you? Or is it that you just love to watch me fall so hard for you, and then gloat over how petty you make me? You know what? Fuck you. I'm not gonna say it again."

Confusion still has such a hold of me that I am not quite sure of what to do, and it really pokes Cato's anger even further towards fury. He clenches his hand around my neck again, and the breath of air I was about to let out gets stuck in my throat. He brings his face down to mine as I claw at his hand, desperate to breathe. I'm starting to panic when he finally decides to loosen his grip, and I suck in every fiber of air I can muster, as I'm afraid he will cut my air-ways off again. He doesn't though, even though his hand still rests loosely on the base of my neck. Instead of trying to fucking strangle me again, he brings his face so close that our foreheads almost touch. Almost.

I am still gasping as he creases his neck to brush his lips ever so gently against mine, causing the final realization to settle, followed by blinding fury. Cato doesn't expect the sudden blow to his face, and it is quite satisfying to see his head being hit back that way, the cause being my fist. He growls at me, and I glare back at him. "You have no right to say that to me," I hiss through clenched teeth. "No fucking right."

"I have the right to say _whatever _I want to you, princess. You're _mine,_" he spits.

"No," I say, and shake my head violently in disbelief. "No! You don't get to say that. You can't _say _that to me." The anger is building up inside me now, for real. "I mean, what the hell? How can.. What? You can't just come here when we have both been _reaped, _and are going into the games together, and tell me _that. _No, it doesn't fucking work that way, Cato. You can't just decide that I'll live. That's just fucking stupid of you, you conceited asshole!"

My gasping from earlier has turned into angry panting, and I take a step closer to my angry man. As I stand up on my toes, and get up in his face, I can't help but feel satisfied as I see the bruise forming on his cheek. "This," I say, and make a motion with my hand to indicate that I mean this whole thing, which includes much more than just us. "This has been your dream since forever, Cato. You can't just throw it away just because of some stupid girl!" I grab a fistful of his shirt as if to keep him from back-tracking, not that he would as he would rather want to get just as much in my face as I'm in his. "You're so fucking stupid, you know that? Huh? You tell me _I _am, all the time, but really it's _you. _You can't just come here and tell me you _love _me. You can't fucking do that. You just.. can't.."

Cato looks very angry now, and I know he is soon reaching fury level insanity as he once again takes a hold of my neck. But this time it also includes my jaw, which forces me to look straight at him, with no room what so ever to move my head. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't feel the same way." He smirks meanly -cruelly- as if this whole thing is just another one of our pointless competitions of dangling the hardest challenge in front of each other. "Tell me you don't love me, angel. Tell me, and I'll let you decide who of us who will die." Is he being serious? I don't want him to be, but I know from the look on his face that he is. "Go on, tell me."

"You can't do this, Cato, you fucking asshole!" I scream at him, finally losing it. "Stop it with this love bullshit, 'cause both you and I know we aren't capable of feeling that! We.. we aren't supposed to think like this, we can't afford that. Don't you see? We aren't anything but killing machines born to fucking slaughter. You've told me so too many times for me to count, and yet you dare say you _love _me? Fuck you!"

He shakes his head curtly, but yet so angrily. "You know what, Clove?" he hisses through clenched teeth. "I'm fucking tired of you being a broken, insecure bitch. I'm tired of picking up the fucking pieces of you whenever you aren't strong enough to keep yourself together. I'm tired of you being so fucking destroyed that you can't see the truth: that I might be the biggest asshole ever, and also the worst monster you'll ever lay your pretty eyes on, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm still a fucking human being, Clove. I feel, I need, I _love. _And I've tried, I have really, really tried to kill that human part of me, okay? 'Cause you seem to prefer me as a fucking monster. But of all the things I can kill, you and that tiny piece of humanity left in me, are the only things I can't. And that tiny fucking part of the boy I still am, loves you. No matter if you want to believe it or not. So go ahead and be a bitch about it, go cry or do whatever, but at least I have guts enough to admit it."

I try to shake my head, but fail miserably, as my head is still held tightly in his possession. "Shut up, Cato," I tell him. To be honest; I have no idea what else to say, as I'm both shocked by the fact that he is telling me he isn't just a monster, that he fucking loves me, and that I'm broken. Should I say that I love him too, even though I am almost certain it is not true? Or scream at him for calling me broken? Tell him that no matter how much he believes he is human, he is still just that monster born to do nothing but kill?

A part of my brain seemed to just stop working the second he called me a broken, insecure bitch. I know I am a bitch, but broken and insecure? Sure, I have some difficulties here and there, but broken? _Really?_ And what the hell; insecure? Even worse.

"No," he growls, digging his fingers into the hollow of my cheeks. "I won't shut up, you little cunt." I watch as his face grows more and more enraged by the second. And the fact that he calls me a _cunt, _tells me he already is very angry as he knows how hard those kind of nick-names hits me. I hate it with such a burning passion when he calls me those names, and I hate how they have the ability to hurt me. "Stop being so fucking insecure. You're a Career, Clove. Start fucking acting like one."

I let out a growl of a laughter, ringing cold and menacing in my own ears. "Yeah, 'cause _I _am the one who needs to start acting like a Career, _loverboy._" And that is the last straw for him, because he slaps me across the cheek, abnormally hard for how he usually hits me. I growl at him again, and as he has not strained my legs, I manage to kick him in the shin. He grunts in surprised pain, and whirls us both around, before flinging me down to the floor where I land ungraciously with a large 'thump'.

Cato bends down the slightest to give me a final glare. "You're just a whiny, insecure, broken little whore, Clove. Nothing more," he growls. Him standing above me like this, makes him look like a tall, fucking invincible god. And I try to glare back, I really do. But what he said hit me with such a force that I can feel my own face falling into an expression of hurt. He grins evilly as he sees my face, knowing that those words really stung.

And with that last exclamation and that final twisted grin, he strides out of the room, leaving me on the floor on the verge of tears, and confused about the whirl of emotions in my chest.

He does not _love _me. And I do not love him.

We can't.

Monsters can't love.

…

I'm too stunned, and upset, and far too furious to really do anything beside staring at the door where the most infuriating asshole -whom just told me he _loves _me- disappeared. It is all just too much. The Games, Cato, being touched by someone who really should not have been touching me, the pain, the fights, the emotions, the fucking truth. Everything hurts so much, and I can't deal with that now. I just can't.

Surprise settles in me as I rub my eyes, and find them wet after a few tears have managed to leak shamefully. My hands are shaking violently, and I don't know for how long I can keep everything wrapped inside. So I do what I know; curl myself into a little ball, and dig my nails mercilessly into the flesh of my arm, to still my body which has become one quaking tremble. Piercing my own skin with my nails, I try to control the urge to cry, to scream, and to kill. That little physical pain brings a bit of sanity back to keep me breathing, but I know that the grip will soon falter if I don't find anything productive to let it all out on.

_I love you, _he had said. And that is the part that really upsets me because it is not true. And I know it is a lie, because it does _not _lay in Cato's nature. He became an orphan at the age of two, where both his parents died in a mysterious way. He was sent to live at an orphanage, but as soon as he filled five he was snatched by a previous victor, and became the next killing machine project. Cato lived at the Training Center, along with other kids who also were either homeless projects, or whose parents paid a lot of money to get them out of the way and make them murderers, so their offspring could be the ones to bring glory to our beloved district.

Cato was trained especially hard, being the project he was. And that paid off remarkably, as he soon became the strongest, most brutal, and intimidating tribute candidate they had ever had. At the Training Center they teach us three things: love is weak, enjoy murder, and no mercy. Those three things are so drilled into all of our heads that love is simply not an opportunity. Love is _weak –_ pathetic. And what is love compared to the blissful feeling of killing?

Cato has finally lost himself, and that fact scares me more than anything. He can't love me. He is a monster. _I _am a monster. And monsters can't love. It is impossible. And even if he has that unbelievably, tiny human part as he seems to believe, even if he can actually love someone, that someone can't be me. Who would love the insecure, broken and worthless Clove Cavia?

Because as I think about it, maybe I am broken. Maybe I just act tough for no one to see the real insecure me. Maybe my father's endless abuse damaged me, maybe the way I found my brother hanging -murdered- on our door -pierced through the heart by a sword- made my sanity falter, maybe even Cato has had his fair share of breaking me. Maybe that is all I am: a weak shell of the killer I am supposed to be.

But Cato has never lied to me. Why start now? Even though the brutal Cato Merquen is not capable of love, it still does not make me any less his. And back home everybody knew his right to me, as their throats would be ripped out if they tried anything. Nobody ever questioned it either, as they figured I was just his little play-thing who he would eventually tire off. But that did not happen, not yet anyway. Cato grew fiercely protective of me, and could not stand me even looking at other guys. Not that I was checking anyone out, but sometimes I like to watch how petty my competition is.

Our relationship has always been very turbulent, and I am sure the whole district think it is a full-blown war is being fought when we are having one of our violent arguments. Because it doesn't make sense that the two most vicious and violent of District 2's youth would be together. It doesn't make sense that Cato Merquen and Clove Cavia – the monsters of District 2, would ever need someone, yet alone _each other_.

Cato never lies to me. _Never. _He just doesn't. Not to _me. _Then how dare he start now? How dare he tell me he loves me? How fucking dare he?

How can he say that when he knows we aren't capable of feeling such emotions? We are taught to kill every feeling that isn't hate, anger or the bliss of killing. We are taught to not indulge ourselves the weakness of love. Because love makes you weak, and if Cato is giving into weakness, he is no longer the boy whom claimed me as his so many years ago.

Because I am his – I always was. Ever since that day he so shamelessly invited me to play that game with him, and I had no way of escaping that wouldn't label me as a coward. Everyone back home knew I was his to claim, that I was his and everyone who ever tried something would get their necks snapped. I'm his to fuck. He is mine to conquer. But even though he is mine, and I am his, there is still no love.

Cato and I are scarily alike in many violent ways, but we also have our differences. While Cato is brutally honest – too brutally sometimes, I have no problems lying to him. But he always exposes my lies as he seems to have a Clove lie detecting device build into his brain. Another thing which makes us different is that I'm the sole definition of a loner, and he is the king of popularity. Everyone back home worships him like the pathetic little creatures they are.

If Cato had ordered them to kiss the ground he walked on, they would. And not only is that incredibly ridiculous, but also kind of unbelievable if you just take one look at my man, as by first glance he just looks like a fucking crazy killer. But Cato has this charm about him, this poisonous charm which he can turn on with a click, and just as easily turn off again. It is scary to see him work his manipulative magic – he leaves them with no choice, as they seem compelled when he is done.

That poisonous charm has infected me more than I would like to admit. He is like venom – sweet, dangerous venom running through my veins, and I can't help but like the way he feels. He is everywhere, in my mind, consuming my being with his arrogant, evil, but yet so perfect self. He is _mine. _

I gave him everything – the right to own me. But I did not really give it to him, he kind of stole it with my silent consent. Although I will never admit it, I love the way he is so possessive of me. I love to see how jealous he gets if I as much as look at a guy that isn't him, even though his endless possessiveness can be a bit too much sometimes. Cato is definitely the one in control in our relationship – another thing which I will definitely _not _admit out loud. He could boss me around until I'm dead, and I would still love him with my whole being.

My breath hitches so badly in my throat that I struggle to gain control over my breathing, as I manage to startle myself with that thought. _Love him with my whole being. _What the actual fuck? Did I just allow myself to think that? How can the broken Clove Cavia love? It is impossible. Unimaginable. Unthinkable. I have never believed in love – it is simply a myth from that book of fairy-tales my brother gave me when I was seven.

The book held stories with princesses waiting for their knights in shining armor – so-called damsels in distress. One story was about a princess being awoken from a spell causing her to sleep a hundred years by only a simple kiss from her savior, which turned out to be her true love. Another story was about a princess who fell in love with a hideous beast, but yet despite the fact that he was a monster, she still loved him. Those stories about love are just fiction, an invention of the mind of the bored. It is not real.

But Cato had said he loves me. Cato never lies to me. Not to _me. _I love him? But how can such deranged people, raised in the most twisted way, trained to kill, and born to slaughter, love? Yet alone, each other? The only love I have ever known is the love for my darling knives.

And that is just it, I realize with a violent start. Weapons. Blood. Murder. That is the only love we have ever known. That is why Cato and I are meant to be, because of our twisted obsession with pain and torture. Sadism brought us together.

That might explain why I love him -because maybe I do. Maybe the murderous Clove Cavia actually _loves_- but not why we seem to bring out the best in each other. How do we possess the skill to turn murderous love, into loving love? Why am I not driven by my violent nature to kill him? I only know I can't, and that I would rather die myself than live without him – my Cato. Which does say something, as the selfish, sadistic Clove does _not _let her feelings steer her often.

And the conclusion of this pointless, distraction of a ramble inside my complicated head: I love him. I love him with my whole heart, my soul, with my whole broken being.

Maybe my rambling wasn't that pointless after all.

…

I jog through the empty halls of Floor 2, desperately seeking my boyfriend. My boyfriend who _loves _me. I'm not sure if I'm happy or utterly terrified by the fact, but I know I'm still mad. Only one of us will be going home. Not all the love in the world can change that.

Deciding I will check the rooftop I hurry into the elevator. It isn't before I'm on the rooftop and I feel the cold wind sting my cheeks that I notice I'm crying. The tears that have threatened to spill for so long are finally surfacing. And not as silent tears, but as weak, pain-filled sobs. They shake through my body forcefully, and without Cato's warmth to still them they slowly worsen. I press my palms to the rail, and grip it tightly. Like if I grip hard enough the sobs will fade out.

They don't fade out though, and Cato isn't here either. _Stop it, Clove, you weak failure. Tears are __weak, you pathetic excuse of a Career. _And I know my inner voice is right. I _am _a fucking failure. Just look at the sobbing _weak _mess I have become.

I look up at the darkening sky. There was this old woman back home who always talked about someone living up there. _Religion. _The word pops up into my mind unexpectedly. It is a thing from way before the Dark Days. Many had their own religion where they believed in something. The old woman was always chanting about angels, evil and God. Yes, she believed in God. I remember her telling me about how he was our father and that everyone who believed in him would be welcomed into heaven when they die. I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell no matter what anyway. I remember her telling me that he controls everything. He punished those who had sinned and rewarded those who were faithful.

But even if I don't believe in him myself -in fact the whole idea with someone living in heaven seems kind of ridiculous to me- I start screaming like I finally have gone crazy, "Why me?" The sound of my heartbreak carries mercilessly through the air, piercing it with my gruesome, sorrowful screams. "Why do you have to do this to me?" The tears have stopped running down my cheeks as anger slowly takes over. "He's my everything! He's my _fucking _everything! I need him!" For once anger made a short appearance and I'm back to being choked with sadness. Tears mercilessly force themselves out of my eyes again. "He loves me," I whisper and a sad smile reaches my lips faintly through the tears. "You can't take that from me. Not this. I won't let you. I won't let fucking anyone take this away from me."

Carefully I scan the sky for any movement at all. For anything that can prove the crazy old lady right. Nothing. And I realize that I might end up just crazy myself. "I won't fucking let you!" I scream again, my voice breaking shamefully as I try desperately to trigger some sort of response. Anything. "He's mine. He always was."

"Who is?" The voice coming out of nowhere, startles me out of my skin. I jump back, my heart beating like the fastest drum. And in a brief moment I find myself thinking the almighty God has spoken to me. Even though the voice obviously belongs to a girl.

"Fuck," I exclaim as my hand flies up to touch my chest where my heart lays. My head searches desperately to find the source of the sound. "Who's there?" I ask, afraid that I have just imagined it, or worse, that God has come here to tell me to shut the fuck up.

A vague familiar form emerges from the shadows and says, "Me." It isn't hard to recognize the blonde girl standing before me. Glimmer. I quickly wipe the tears away with the back of my hand. Showing weakness to your enemy means death.

"How much did you see?" I ask, willing my voice to come out strong and threatening, but of course it breaks embarrassingly.

"Enough to be confused of why you were screaming at the sky," she answers slowly. She eyes my reaction carefully, seemingly unwilling to get any closer before she believes she is safe. But I don't blame her after what she just witnessed. Clove losing her mind has to be a scary sight.

With a low sigh I turn and lean against the rail, glancing down at the infamous Capitol and its mesmerizing lights. Glimmer hesitates but eventually decides that I'm not that big of a threat and joins me beside the rail. "You came here sobbing," she states, still hesitant and carefully observing my reaction.

I ignore her statement, not wanting to acknowledge my moment of weakness. Right now, with the chilly wind blowing through my thin t-shirt and fresh tears drying on my drenched cheeks I feel so vulnerable. And vulnerability equals weakness. Everybody knows that.

"Who were you screaming about?" she asks carefully. As if expecting me to whirl and attack her any second. And for all I know, she might be right.

An unamused laugh escapes my lips. "The boy I'm always screaming about," I answer, knowing it won't make her any wiser. And my answer is true. I'm either screaming at him, or screaming because of him. He has his way of making me scream his name. The one way or the other...

Instead of punching her, or even attempting to kill or torture her for being so nosy, I simply let my hands squeeze tighter around the railing. A feeling of empty defeat overcomes me, and I know Glimmer is lucky I'm feeling so damn down. If I had been so utterly furious as I was a couple of minutes ago, I wouldn't have even hesitated to kill her. But it is something with this blonde-haired girl which fascinates me. And I haven't decided if that is a good or bad thing yet. She seems so _superior. _Not in the way she behaves, but in what lays behind her eyes. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it is something, _something, _which makes me want to see what she is all about. _Then _I can kill her.

"Let me guess," she says, almost sarcastically. "It's Cato, isn't it?" Of course it is. It is _always _Cato.

"Is it really that obvious?" I ask. Believe it or not, I have actually put in an effort to act like I hate him. And it shouldn't be that hard, because I do actually hate him. But despite how much I do, I will always love him more. And I can't just act like my feelings aren't there. I've never been that good of an actress.

Glimmer shakes her head, blonde hair flying around her delicately. "No," she answers simply. "But I've seen the way you look at each other. And today when Jordan-"

"Who?" I ask, confused. I have the worst mind for remembering names.

"The District 4 boy," she says. "When he was complementing you today, I saw Cato's expression. I guess he scares away all the boys who ever talk to you?"

I allow myself a small smirk. "Pretty much," I say, glancing at her briefly, before returning my gaze to rest on the blinding city lights down below. "He is very possessive," I add. Emphasis on the _very. _

"He seems to care a lot about you," she says after a while, looking at me, as if for confirmation. And I find myself nodding the slightest, though 'care' is not a word I would usually associate with Cato. Care is a word that shouldn't be in any Career's vocabulary.

My throat feels thick as I answer. "He actually told me he loves me. Uh, that's why I came here.. like.. this," I finish lamely, not willing to admit the fact that I came here _sobbing _like a fucking child, and that someone actually witnessed it.

"Why? That's a good thing, isn't it?" Her innocent curiosity amazes me. She isn't prying to find the next big thing to gossip about. No, it is more like she genuinely wants to know. "You don't love him back?"

"No, it's not that," I assure her, lowly. A feeling of triumph settling in my chest as I realize I'm not afraid to admit to myself that I do actually love him. Clove Cavia does actually _love._ Maybe I'm not only the monster I'm brought up to be. Maybe I'm not only a product of my father's cruel upbringing, and the Center's twisted discipline."I do love him." I sigh barely audibly, not knowing why I'm spilling my guts to her. But I know that I just have to get it out somehow. And it is either this or screaming to the sky again. "It's just that I never knew I could, you know, love. I never thought someone could love _me. _I don't know how it is in District 1 but in my district love means weakness. And we all grow up with parents who hit us if we ever do something that doesn't fit their expectations and force us to train from the second we learn to walk. We grow up in hatred, and I never knew love was possible for me. I'm just too _bad _for any of that stuff.

"But then Cato came along, and I knew I cared about him. At least enough to not want to kill him. He understood me." I tear my gaze from the mesmerizing Capitol lights and trail my eyes on the girl standing beside me. She looks merely caught up in my life story, and I debate whether or not to tell her the last part. I decide that I -surprisingly enough- trust her. "About a year and a half ago he got me pregnant," I pause slightly to search her face for any disbelief or disgust. The only thing her face holds is a faint surprise. "and when he didn't leave me I think it was then I kinda fell for him. But I never said anything 'cause I didn't understand. And now, when only one of us will survive, he finally tells me he _loves _me. It makes everything so much harder."

"Do you have child?" she asks abruptly, her blue eyes sparkling with something I can't identify.

I shake my head ruefully. "I miscarried." Bitterness evident in my voice.

"Oh," she says. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry it's just that-" She pauses, and takes a deep breath. "-I do."

Her statement confuses me. "Huh?" I say cleverly.

"I do have a child," she whispers, as if it is painful for her to admit. "My daughter just turned two, and said her first word when my husband and she came and said goodbye."

Those words confuse me even more. "Husband? Two year old daughter? How old _are _you?" I can't say much about her having a child without being a total hypocrite. But a _husband_? Isn't she a little _young _to be married?

"I'm eighteen." She smiles, but as the corner of her mouth quirks it looks more like a rather sad grimace. "I know it's kind of shocking. I got pregnant when I was fifteen and when my family disowned me the father married me on the spot."

"Wait, you said she said her first word. What did she say?" All this information is really hard to take in all at once.

"Mommy." Glimmer's voice holds such raw anguish that I nearly feel it myself. Or of course I feel it, I have got my own fair share of anguish. But hers lingers in the air, hanging around us like a suffocating blanket. "She said 'mommy'."

A stab of jealousy hits me forcefully in the gut. That is just so unfair! Why is it that she got to keep her baby while mine got killed? But then I remember Aaron's words; life is unfair. And it is true. But will the unfairness eventually be justified, or will some people just get all the luck while others have to cling to their misfortune?

"You're lucky, you know, who got to have her." I swallow with difficulty. A sudden feeling of suffocation surrounds me as I think back to those scary months just after I filled fifteen. "When I first found out I was terrified. And very mad. I was going to have an abortion. Cato wanted that. We both wanted that. At least that's what I thought. 'Cause Cato and I had agreed a long time ago that we never would have children; they were just in the way. But when I was standing inside that awfully cold abortion clinic, I-I just couldn't. I didn't know why, but I just couldn't kill what was growing inside me. Which was really confusing as I've always enjoyed killing."

I find myself gingerly pressing my palm against my flat abdomen. The baby had grown enough to be visible on the outside like a small bump before it got killed. But only noticeable for those who really looked and knew how flat my stomach was to begin with.

"I didn't tell anyone but Cato about the baby, but this girl-" Gia. "-had seen me buy a pregnancy test and spread rumors, which in the end proved to be true. She nearly ruined my reputation." I know it is rather shallow to care about my reputation in this situation. But in District 2 if you don't have a good reputation you aren't anything, and I have no problems admitting I'm shallow – I'm raised that way. "But then I _fell _down the stairs and the baby was just gone."

"I'm so sorry, Clove. I had no idea." Her expression is grim and her sympathy actually seems genuine, which kind of angers me. _I don't need her pity._

I shake my head. "No, it's okay. It's for the best, really. I would have been a terrible mother." And even though it -surprisingly- pains me to admit, I know it is the truth. Cato alike - we wouldn't make good parents. We are too _bad. _We are just products of twisted people and evil logic. Born to hate, raised to kill and we will eventually die for our screwed idea of pride. But the really messed up thing is that we are loving every second of it.

Glimmer seems shocked by my honest statement and says quietly, "You don't know that."

Again I find myself laughing coldly, even though it is nothing funny about this situation. "Yes, in fact, I do know that. I mean, have you _met _me?" I shake my head again. "I'm born to be a killer, Glimmer. And killers aren't supposed to have babies. It doesn't go well together."

"Wouldn't you rather define yourself after who _you_ want to be than what people expect you to be?"

"It doesn't work that way," I say. "And even if it did, I'm not sure if I would want to be anyone else. When I kill I feel so _alive. _Like there is nothing in the world that can stop me. I'm invincible."

Glimmer scrunches her nose. "I never understood how people could enjoy that. You're taking someone's life. It's permanent. You can't give it back if you regret it." _But that is the thing: I never regret it._

In some ways she is the female version of my brother. "I guess you're not a big fan, eh?" I smile devilishly. It is weird how she hasn't shrunk back in fear or disgust yet. She shakes her head, blonde hair flying. Silence wraps around us for the slightest second. "Aren't you afraid I'm going to kill you?" I ask her, having trouble keeping the dangerous grin of off my lips.

She shakes her head again. "You wouldn't have told me all that if you were going to kill me. You don't kill people you trust." And I guess she is right. If I trust them their life automatically gains value. And if it is something I have learned it is that it is smart to keep around things with value.

"You know, you remind me of someone I used to know." My brother always put ethics before almost everything. At home he was considered as a weak coward. And I can't say that I understand either his or Glimmer's way of thinking. Hell, sometimes I don't even understand _my _way of thinking.

"Is that a good thing?"

"Maybe," I say. "It just might have changed my mind about killing you."


	9. When The Mind Slips

9.

When The Mind Slips

The fragile condition;

When the mind slips

Weary and broken

Words never spoken

* * *

><p>"<em>You're like a drug that I can't stop taking. I want more, and I can't stop craving." Bittersweet Memories, Bullet For My Valentine<em>

* * *

><p>Feeling rather relieved after talking to Glimmer, I take the elevator down to Floor 2. I still need to find Cato. I need to return those three small words – though their smallness, they still have the greatest meaning.<p>

I decide to check the dining room, because wherever there is food to be found, there is also Cato. I swear he eats my weight in food every day. Oceana jumps from her chair when she sees me coming, and hastily runs out like the terrified animal she really is. Coward.

But Cato isn't there either. And instead of having any luck whatsoever and continuing with my forever misfortune, I find my unpleasant (the biggest understatement ever) father. "Trouble in paradise?" he asks mockingly, from where he sits hunched on a chair beside the table by himself, a bottle of liquor clenched tightly in his grasp. I look at him coldly, careful not to show any emotion which can give him something to use against me later. If it is one thing I have learned about my father, it is that he smells weakness from miles away. And every emotion that can even be considered as weak, should be hidden deep in the dark. "Oh, come on, _hun_. I know when you've been crying. You're my daughter after all." He comes up in front of me and tucks a strayed lock of hair behind my ear in a mocking illusion of what a real father would do. He peers tauntingly into my eyes, only waiting for me to snap at him. But I will not give him that pleasing satisfaction, as I have simply grown to learn how to deal with my father's usual taunting.

"Oh, come on, _dad,_" I start in the same mocking tone as him, smirking my sweetest and innocent smirk. "We both know that you aren't my father." I narrow my eyes the slightest as I say that last part, as I can't seem to help it.

"Touche, hun," he tells me, almost chuckling that meanly amused, but yet so cold laugh. "Touche." His taunting smirk of pure evil reminds me of everything he has ever done to me. And the thing is; he knows. He knows how infuriating I find that stupid taunting smirk of his, and he smirks just to get under my skin. Something which he manages so greatly, to my big frustration. "So what did you do now? I heard you two fighting, and I saw him running off. He didn't look too happy with you, _sweetheart._" I fight to keep the sweet smile on my face. "Are you pregnant again?"

His suggestion shocks the vague effort of a mocking smile off my face, and I shake my head, horrified. "No." I mean for the words to come out strong, but of course my voice fails me, and they escape in a whisper.

He leers at me. "Good. Then I won't have to push you down the stairs again."

I flinch like I have just been hit – I can't help it. His words strike my biggest vulnerability with the force to tear me apart. My heart had finally healed, and now my father slashes it open again, hurting me more than wounding me physically could ever do. Hatred flows strongly through my veins, fueling the raw, throbbing piece of meat that used to be my heart with maddening anger.

"Fuck you," I hiss finally after a slight silence, and I'm almost scared of how much like a wild animal I sound. "Fuck you, you self-centered, fucking asshole of a worthless bastard." He raises his eyebrows calmly, seemingly unfazed by my crude name-calling. "Fuck you and your worthless piece of shit life. I fucking hate you. I hate you so fucking much," I screech at him.

"No, _fucking _is what got you in the situation in the first place. _Fucking _got you pregnant. Because you are a _fucking _whore. That's how you use the word, hun." My nails dig into the flesh of my arm brutally as I try to gain some control over the anger slowly building in my chest. "And you should be grateful!" he roars. "You should be grateful I got rid of that mistake growing inside of you. It would have ruined your life, Clove. You can't be a Career and a _mommy_-" He says the word mockingly. "-at the same time. You should be fucking kissing my feet for saving your life so you could chase your dreams!" He actually_ believes_ it – believes he did the right thing. "And besides, it was mercy for the creature. At least it doesn't need to have _you _as its mother now. You would have destroyed it."

I shake my head violently, hoping it will pop out of place so the pain can distract me from the tornado within. "I loved it," I say in a fake sense of calm – fury seething underneath my fragile surface. "I loved that baby more than my own life. How could you?" I ask, my vision blurring in a vague crimson red. "How fucking could you?" And I'm surprised I haven't attacked him yet. Maybe I have more self-control than I thought. "I know you hate me because I killed my mother. But do you think I did that on purpose? Don't you think I have payed for the mistake of being born every single day of my fucking life?" My voice grows in volume with every furious word. "It's because of you I'm ruined!" I scream in his face. "You fucking ruined me, _dad_!"

His face is so drained for emotion that it feels like I'm talking to a dead man. But then suddenly he grabs my chin, and squeezes so hard it is impossible for me to get free. His cold eyes bore into mine. "I'm not your fucking father, Clove. You're a worthless mistake, you should never have been born." I struggle to control my angry panting. And the words I thought couldn't hurt me anymore feels like another bruise to my heart. Shameful tears of hurt and anger spring to my eyes, and as he slaps me hard over the cheek, they fall like small betraying beads of pain. He grabs a hold of my chin again. "You're fucking weak, Clove." He pauses slightly. "And worthless. Nobody loves you. Nobody ever will."

That is when my anger breaks free. Like a monstrous beast finally found its way out of a cage. It takes over my whole being like flames licking my insides, and embracing my outsides. Burning hatred knots my hands into fists, and strikes my father so hard in the face that a crunch is to be heard as his nose breaks.

I don't give him the chance to fight back as I fling myself at him like a raging animal, and pin him to the ground. Wrapping both my small hands around his rather thick throat, I manage to cut off his oxygen. Anger fuels my strength, and I dig my nails into his windpipes, drawing blood as I pierce his flesh. My father soon turns blue, and then he stops fighting back as he faints.

"_You're_ weak!" I screech in his unconscious face. Spitting at his soon-to-be corpse. "_You're_ the one who's fucking weak!" I can feel tears streaming down my cheeks like waterfalls. And I can't stop them – maybe weakness runs in the family?

"Everything I ever did was for you!" I scream. "I fought so hard to earn myself a name so you could be proud of me! That was all I ever wanted; your approval. But everything you ever gave me was hatred. You told me I was worthless, and I fucking believed you!" Each of my nails have dug mercilessly far into his neck, and I know that if I squeeze for only a little longer my father will be dead. "I still fucking believe you," I whisper, a single tear dripping from my face and onto his lifeless one.

Suddenly, I feel myself being brutally thrown off his lifeless body, and I land with a loud 'thump' on the hard floor. Arms lift me forcefully from the ground, and Enobaria's face appears in front of me. She grabs my chin firmly, forcing me to look into her eyes. "Control yourself, Clove," she commands sternly, her voice cold and filled with authority. "You can do it. Breathe."

But I can't, and control is long lost as I lunge for Enobaria too. She soon gets her arms around me, and I'm forcefully held in place, unable to fight my way free. My vision is blood red, and I can't seem to think straight as I try to struggle my way out of her death grip. She drags me mercilessly along and locks me into my room where madness takes place in my fragile mind.

All the despair, frustration, pain and anger whirls around inside me like a never-ending tornado. Pain isn't a strong enough word for the feeling you get when you know you are about to lose everything you ever had. And it is this mad pain that sets my body on fire. The fierce fire of fury.

My limbs seem to live their own life as I punch the wall with all the strength, and force I can muster. I rage around the room, destroying everything that can be destroyed. The mirror shatters noisily as I slam my already bleeding fist into it. I kick, scream and punch around me until I can't feel myself.

When there is nothing more to destroy, I slam myself into the wall. Wanting my body to hurt as much as possible so I won't have to feel this horrible torture going on inside of me. But the pain within eliminates the hurt of the injuries brought by myself easily. The only thing I feel is the ache of my heart, and I'm choking on the desperation of wanting it gone.

It won't leave me alone, and I'm locked in a cage of raw anguish, without any escape. And if it is something I can't handle it is the feeling of being trapped.

Eventually the violent screams of rage turn into heartbreaking sobs. My whole being is shaking in uncontrollable fits of brokenness as I fall to the floor covered by shattered mirror-pieces. Even though I can feel the sharp edges piercing my skin it still doesn't cancel out my heartbreak. I shouldn't be crying like this. _I'm a Career._ I should be able to stop. But I can't.

I'm weak and worthless. I'm nothing.

_Nothing. _The word is burned into my mind. I'm weak, and Cato deserves so much better. I could live many lifetimes and not deserve him. But I'm too selfish to let go. He is the only thing I have – my everything. But everything always gets ripped mercilessly out of my grasp, no matter how hard I cling to it.

The door flies open -cutting off my thoughts- followed by the footsteps I know better than my own. A strong pair of familiar arms wrap around my crumpled body. And the sobs are still raging through me like an earthquake as he presses me into him, embracing me with his overwhelming warmth and familiar scent. Sitting down on the bed, he cradles me in his lap, and I bury my face into his chest to hide my tear-streaked face.

I grab a tight hold of his t-shirt, and knot my hands like fists around the fabric as if trying to physically force him to stay with me forever. But I know I can't. Forces beyond our comprehension will tear us apart. Limb by limb. Piece by piece. Heart by heart.

It isn't before Cato has murmured, "Shh, angel. Shhh," repeatedly in my ear that I know I'm screaming. I'm not really sure what I'm screaming about, but my screams are ear-shattering loud noises, ringing painfully in my ears. And I bury my head even further into his chest to silence my loud cries of sorrow.

Eventually -and only because of his comforting presence- my frightening screaming stops, and my grieving sobs still. Cato murmurs soothing little nothings in my ear, and I just sit there, listening to his endless calming chanting and prominent heartbeat.

I don't dare to look up at him, because I'm so terribly terrified of what I might find. What if this was the last straw, and he comes to the conclusion that his girlfriend finally has gone insane and that he won't put up with her breakdowns anymore? What if he finally has realized that I'm worthless, and unworthy of love? What if he finally has realized that he deserves so much better? What will I do then? Give him my knife and beg him to kill me, because that would hurt so much less?

"Will you ever look up at me, Clove? Or are you going to hide in my chest forever?" With a low sniffle, I find myself lifting my head to finally meet his gaze. I'm met by his beautiful blue eyes, and I shift in his lap the slightest, straddling him so I can sit more properly. "Angel," he murmurs quietly as he sees my face, which I know is red from crying.

Lifting my hand to touch his face, I find a rather large piece of the shattered mirror sticking out of my arm, and I can't feel it at all. I ignore the piece and brush the hair out of his face carefully, before my finger traces his nose and down to his soft lips where my finger lingers slightly. When I have made sure he is real, my hand retreats and lands heavily in my lap.

My focus is again on his brilliant eyes, which hold nothing but the same grief as mine. But also love. I can't be hallucinating, can I? That care-filled gaze is real, isn't it? I come to the conclusion that it has to be real. This isn't something my mind -no matter how brutally vivid it might be sometimes- can conjure.

I swallow hard, and open my mouth to say the words I'm so ridiculously afraid of. His eyes follow my every motion, awaiting my next move. And I can't seem to get those three small word off my tongue. As he tucks some strayed hair behind my ear, I almost start crying again. _We are doomed, _is the only thing I can think. _We are soon the tragic dead lovers of District 2. _

_Lovers. _Can we really call ourselves that? Can the vicious Clove and the violent Cato -the monsters from District 2- qualify as lovers? Lovers have to love, and I'm still not sure about our capability to feel that emotion.

Drawing a shaking breath I gaze up at him beneath my eyelashes, searching is calm face with desperate eyes. "We're monsters, Cato," I whisper abruptly. "We are bloodthirsty, vicious, _sadistic _monsters. And monsters don't love. We aren't supposed to. We're heartless murderers. Cold, violent, brutal killers. We can't love. Monsters can't love."

"Says who?" he asks, peering down at me with a grim look on his face.

I shrug weakly. "Nobody," I tell him. "It's just how it is."

"Then how do you explain this?" he asks, reaching for my hand and pressing it against his chest. Beneath his carved muscles I can feel is heart beating strongly, almost like a desperate plea. "So what if we love to make people scream in pain. So what if we love to feel their blood on our hands. We might be monsters, Clove. But nothing, _no fucking thing, _can change the way you make me feel." He cups my cheeks forcefully, and I can already feel bruises beginning to form. "You're my Clove. And I love your violent mind, your sadistic nature, your evil laugh. You're my vicious little girl, and I love you."

His calm blue eyes still possesses that determined love which sparks my hope. And it is those eyes which make me realize how much I actually love him. _I love him so much it hurts. It fucking hurts. _Maybe we can love after all? Maybe even though we are meant to be unfeeling, born and bred to slaughter with the coldest indifference, we can still experience the blissful sensation of love? All I know is that when he is near my cold heart almost slams out of my chest, that when he touches me my breath hitches in the back of my throat, and that when he kisses me I feel a delicious warm feeling spread through my otherwise hatred-consumed body.

"You're sick," I tell him, my voice low, growling and almost a whisper. "You're sick, and mean and arrogant, you're fucking cruel and the biggest asshole I've ever met." But I know I can't really say anything as I'm all those things too. And isn't it really those things I love about him? "I hate what you do to me, Cato." My drag of breath ends in a small, almost inaudible sigh. I glance at him and find a rare serious expression plastered on his face. "I fucking hate it."

I finally lay my battered hand on his cheek, smearing my blood everywhere. My eyes find his and the look of pure love on his handsome face -despite the insulting names I just told him- makes all my uncertainties disappear. This brutal, attractive, arrogant and _monstrous _boy loves me. And even though I want to hate him, I know that the warm feeling deep inside, warming my otherwise so cold heart means I love him too. "But-" I tell him, "-you're my everything, Cato." I breathe in deeply, trying to possess the sense of calmness I know I don't have. And even though I'm not comfortable saying these next words, I know they are true. "I love you." My breath is a shallow ripple as I inhale and exhale once more. "I hate it, I absolutely despise loving you, but I do." And a knot of pain gathers in my heart, knowing that this love can't last.

"You're like a drug," I tell him in a whisper, looking up at him and searching his blue eyes uncertainly. "It's like I'm fucking addicted to you, and I just can't stop it. But you're so bad for me Cato, I know that, but I'm still craving you, and it's so bad." My voice grows more frantic with every word. "But despite the fact that I want to tear your throat out most of the time, I still love you."

In a swift motion he has claimed my lips as a proper answer to my 'I love you', and he is curling his fingers into my hair, forcing my mouth hard on his. I kiss back, even though I'm still so furious with him. I'm furious because he made it so much harder for me to get into the Arena with him. I'm mad at him because he makes me one of those girls I swore I never would be – one who would do anything for _love. _And I'm so angry with him for telling me I'm a broken whore.

I suddenly draw back from the kiss, as the anger grows stronger within. I want so badly to hit him, scream at him, but I really feel like crying again. What point is there in picking myself off the ground, when everyone wants to kick me back down? What is the point in trying to be strong, when I still -despite my effort- fall down into a puddle of tears?

Letting my eyelids flutter shut, I feel the familiar tug at the back of my eyes, and I try to stop the tears from pooling in them. Cato whispers my name, and brushes my hair behind my ears with his both hands. Finding the will, and the ability to push the tears back, I open my eyes to stare up at him. It actually hurts when he calls me those names. "Why do you say that every time you get mad?" I tell him, my voice sounding far too vulnerable for my own liking. And it drives me crazy to know I can't steer it back to my normal cold one. "It's okay when you push me, Cato, and even when you hit me. But not telling me that." My jaw clenches in sudden anger and it is through gritted teeth I tell him, "That's not okay, Cato."

Glaring furiously at his serious face, the annoying urge to cry returns, and I want to tear my hair out in frustration. He looks down at me, his hands still cupping my head, forcing me to look right at him. He eventually nods in agreement. "I know," he tells me reasonably. "I know it's not okay, Clove. And I know it hurts you when I call you those things." He sighs, and gently strokes my hair the slightest before his hands land in his lap. "I'm sorry, angel."

The apology shocks me, even though I know it shouldn't as he has confessed a lot more crazier stuff today. I shake my head, as if that can keep the tears pooling in my eyes from falling. But the violent shake of my head rather causes them to crash down faster, and I look away as I feel them stream down my face – I can't let Cato see them. I can't let anyone see them.

"Don't," I tell him, as he creases his neck to brush his lips against my temple. "Don't say you're sorry. If you had been fucking sorry, you wouldn't have said that in the first place." Cato's grip tightens around me, and he rests his forehead against my temple, his mouth lingering over my ear.

"I'm sorry, Clove," he repeats in a low whisper, the rare seriousness smothering his voice tells me he is speaking the truth. "You know better than anyone how I get when I'm mad, angel. You know I say those things only to hurt you because you are the only one who can anger me that fucking much." I let my hair fall before my face as the tears flow harder, and I try to stifle a sob, but it somehow manages to escape my throat as a choked sound anyway.

Cato yet again cups my cheeks with his rough hands, and forces me to yet again look at him. I close my eyes in sole defiance, and because I really don't want to look at him. "Don't cry, angel. Everything's fine, I said I was sorry, didn't I? Just stop fucking crying."

Anger settles in my body and I open my eyes to glare at him while shaking my head angrily. "You're an asshole," I tell him. "Yes, you said you were _sorry, _but that doesn't undo a fucking thing Cato. I'm so sick of people telling me that I'm not good enough, that I'm worthless, and a whore. Especially when it's _you, _because you're not supposed to tell me that. You're not supposed to say those things to me, or call me those names, and I fucking hate you for doing it."

Instead of blowing up on me like he usually does when I raise my voice like this, he only looks at me calmly, and wipes away the tears on my cheeks with his thumbs. "Is that what you think, Clove? That you're not good enough, and that you're worthless? I never told you that. I might call you a whore, and say that you're whiny, and a fucking bitch, but you're not worthless, Clove." He lays his forehead against mine, and his breath hits my face like a hot wind.

"You're beautiful, okay? You're fucking gorgeous, and you mean more to me than I ever can begin to tell you, even if I act otherwise sometimes, you know that, right? And I'm not lying when I say I love you, angel. I don't lie to you, you know that. But I sometimes call you names that aren't necessarily true 'cause sometimes you hurt me too, Clove. Sometimes you do something cruel, and you act like that ice queen, and you find a way to fucking step on those feelings I have for you. Then I want to hurt you back, and I know those names do the trick.

"When you only stared at me after I told you I loved you, it was like being fucking stabbed in the heart, Clove. I've always liked to believe you loved me, and now I know I always was right. But when the only thing you could to was to stare at me, I wasn't so sure anymore." He looks down at me with a frown between his eyebrows, and an otherwise unreadable expression on his face.

But really though?_ Beautiful_. As if. Glimmer is beautiful. Gia is beautiful. I'm nothing special. As he voices his complementing words, I have to look away because of the confusing emotions tightening in my chest, which wants to be let out. I don't believe him when he calls me beautiful – that is the only thing he has ever lied to me about. But I look up at him again as he starts to speak about the fact that he was _hurt _I didn't say it back – I never ever thought that would happen. _Ever._

"Am I forgiven?" he whispers lowly, and heaves his eyebrows the slightest in question. All I do is nod, even though I still hate him for saying that to me. He grins a cheeky grin. "You just can't resist me, now can you?"

I huff in annoyance, as his sappy moment has left, and set his usual arrogant act in its place. But also relief consumes me – it just feel so wrong hearing Cato talk like that. "Don't flatter yourself," I tell him. My voice cold despite the shameful vulnerability earlier, and even stronger relief settles as I feel myself going back to normal too.

Cato grins yet again, and this time it is still cheeky, but also has grown more dangerous. "You know I'm irresistible," he whispers, and leans closer to brush his lips against mine. He does it so unbearably slowly, he is teasing me so badly. "You know you can't resist me," he says in a hushed voice against my mouth. Then he starts moving his lips ever so slightly against mine – his tongue barely touching my lower lip as he slides over it. And it isn't really a kiss either, it is more a vague _infuriating _touch of the lips.

In the end I can't handle his teasing anymore, and I press harshly into him and my lips crush against his. I can feel him smirk against my mouth, and I mentally slap myself for giving into him. "Told you," he teases cheekily, and I let out a soft growl to warn him, which of course causes him to smirk more.

Coiling my arms around his neck, our kiss turns more brutal, but as soon as I press even more strongly into him, he gives a grunt of pain. He reaches for my arm, and holds it up for inspection, where a rather large piece of glass protrudes from my skin. He slowly pulls it out, and his eyes widen as he sees the size of it. Then his hand makes its way up to his shoulder to touch the small wound I made. Cato sighs, "You're bleeding," he says. "Come on, I'll clean your cuts," he tells me with yet another sigh.

I am sighing too, as I nod, and he carefully stands up, lifting me by coiling his arm around my waist, so he can carry me with him. He walks through the room, heading toward the bathroom, which I hopefully haven't smashed in my furious trance. The bathroom is seemingly untouched by my raging hand, and Cato gently lowers me to sit on the vanity. The small counter top is just big enough for my butt to fit on it without me falling into the sink.

He tells me he will be right back, and when he has left, a strange feeling of deja vu overcomes me. This bathroom looks a lot like my bathroom back home, and the strange feeling comes of a memory I'm not sure if I want to retain or just forget.

_The silence is horrible. Tense. Strained. I know he is awake. I can hear it in the pattern of his breathing – he isn't snoring softly like he always does. But even though the awful silence is unavoidable, his grip around me is still comforting. _

_I think he knows I'm awake too, and that he notices the silence. Yet, he doesn't say anything, even though I can't exactly blame him. If I had known what to say, I had said something myself. Finding the right words seems to be impossible, and the tension continues._

_As I'm about to turn and face him, to see what lays in those conflicting and cold blue eyes, bile rises in my throat warningly. I tear away from his comforting grip, and leap onto the floor, barely remembering to hold on to the towel which covers my naked body, before I run to the bathroom. The shattered pieces of the mirror I smashed yesterday in my violent tantrum, cut into my knees as I __kneel before the toilet._

_It feels like I'm going to retch my insides up, something which is quite scary being that there is something _growing _in my stomach. Cato comes up behind me, gingerly holding my hair back with his one hand, and rubs my back in slow circles with the other. The retching finally stops, and I'm surprised that he is being so caring – it is nothing like him at all. I pull away from the toilet and flush my stomach's content, glad I don't have to look at yesterday's dinner anymore._

"_This is because of the-" he starts in a hushed voice, realization evident in his strained tone._

"_Yeah," I interrupt quietly, not wanting him to say it out loud._

_With Cato's help I shakily get to my feet, sharp pieces cutting into my feet as I stand. "Clove," Cato says._

_I brush past him, searching for my toothbrush. "I need to brush my teeth," I say, trying to avoid him saying the inevitable._

"_Angel, you're bleeding," he says after a while, and I look down at my injured knees, realizing I'm leaving a trail of blood from the wounds under my feet. He looks down at me with a strange look on his face. "You can brush your teeth while I take care of your cuts," he says gently, lifting me and gingerly places me on the vanity, so careful, like I might break if he isn't careful enough._

_I brush my teeth and he cleans my cuts in tense silence, and I watch my boyfriend's face carefully as he pulls the splinters out of my right foot. He seems determined not to look at me, and I'm kind of glad. If he looks at me now I won't know what to do. I won't know what to say to him._

_This is the only thing we were sure we didn't want. We agreed a long time ago on the fact that we would never have children. They are just loud and noisy – in the way. This was _not _supposed to happen. We might not have been too good at using protection, but _really_? _

_As he is finished, his gaze catches mine and his eyes both calms me and troubles me at the same time. Desperation flows through me and threatens to come out the same way as my stomach's content did earlier. But as I take a deep breath, I know I can force it back._

_Cato rests his hands carefully on my bare thighs, the towel has slid far up, almost exposing my naked body to him. Well, it is not like he hasn't seen it before. And that is the exact reason why I am in this situation. Sudden rage fills me from the inside, knotting my hands into fists. He sees the look on my face and raises his eyebrows questioningly. "What's _wrong-_" I almost spit the word at him. "-with using a condom, Cato?" I look at him, angry tears blurring my vision. "What's fucking wrong with being a little responsible?" I glare at him, and I can see his fury flare too._

"_You're blaming _me_?" he asks incredulously, his eyebrows rising even higher in surprise. "I_ _thought you_ _were on the pill! But _you _were the one who failed to mention that you obviously-" His hand makes an angry motion toward my stomach. "-weren't."_

_I shake my head in disbelief. "Oh, I told you alright! It's just that _you _didn't listen!"_

_The anger on his face gets replaced by a mask of confusion. "You did?" he says, narrowing his eyes as he thinks. "When?"_

"_About a month ago!" I yell in his face. "You were obviously too busy with your fucking video games to listen to what I said!"_

_But anger soon again replaces the mask of confusion on his face. "Why the hell were you off the pill, anyway? You know I don't do condoms!"_

"_You would have known the reason if you had just listened to me!" I shout. "I was telling you how I got these bad side effects of those I were on, but _you _are obviously too much of an ass to fucking care!"_

_He grabs my chin angrily. "Don't you fucking talk to me that way," he says threateningly. His glare is daring me to disobey him, and I know hell will break loose when I do. "Then why didn't you stop me when we were about to fuck? Huh? Why didn't _you _use that tiny fucking brain of yours and actually check if we were using protection?"_

"_Because I'm fucking stupid, okay? Because you are the _perfect_-" I spit the word at him. "-Cato, and everyone else has the fucking blame! Just blame it on me, Cato. Blame it fucking all on me! 'Cause I'm just stupid, aren't I? Huh? 'Cause the only thing I am to you is your fucking dumb, _pregnant _girlfriend, and it's all my fault, isn't it?" Betraying tears stream down my face, and his __eyes softens for a second, before growing even colder than they were as I continue. "And if you think it's so horrible that I am so fucking stupid, then why don't you fucking just leave? Just leave me and this fucking thing the two of us created! It takes two to produce a child, Cato!"_

_He thrusts his hand through his shaggy, dirty-blond hair frustratedly. "Don't you think I fucking know how babies are made, Clove?" he shouts. "'Cause I fucking know, okay? And maybe I will leave, 'cause this mess was made by you!"_

_My anger reaches new levels as he utters those words, and I shove him in the chest. "Fuck you, you asshole!" I scream at him. "Fuck you!" The silent tears spilling over my cheeks turn into forceful sobs. I jump down from the vanity, my feet again pierced by glass and my towel falling to the floor which exposes me to him. I continue to shove him toward the door, my fists pounding hard against his muscular chest._

_Why does he have to be such an asshole? How can he blame this on _me_? After all, _he _was the one who didn't listen. And that is when the nausea decides to return, and forces me down on my knees in front of the toilet again. I kneel before the toilet, not wearing a tread. And the fact that the boy who planted this _thing_ inside of me just stands there watching my naked, sobbing and puking form, makes me feel so vulnerable. Cato goes very silent, and I eventually feel him kneeling behind me. He lays a heavy hand on my bare back, his hand shaking with the sob trembling through my body. "Don't-" I tell him, shrugging him off. "-touch me."_

"_Clove," he whispers as I throw up once more. The feeling of my stomach turning inside out within, makes me feel like utterly crap. And to know that there is something growing there, makes me feel even worse. _

_Cato wraps his arms around me, and the sobs grow more violent. This is the second time ever he has seen me cry – the first being last night. And I'm surprised I haven't scared him away yet. I'm surprised he even bothers holding me while the pathetic tears stream down my face as this is as far from the usual cold, and vicious Clove Cavia as you can get. _

_After a while of my piercing sobs sounding loud through the silence, he shifts behind me to take of his t-shirt, and covers my naked body. He turns me in his embrace, and I bury my face in the crook of his neck, not being able to look at him. Because right now, I'm only clinging to him, afraid he might leave me to deal with this by myself. I'm holding so tightly on to him, because he is the one I need, and I can't do this without him._

_It doesn't matter that he just acted like the biggest dick, I just need him to hold me. And that is why I don't complain when he lifts me and places me on the vanity, yet again. He puts a finger under my chin to tilt my head up, which forces me to meet his eyes. "I'll fix this," he promises in his usual cold growl, though with a frown on his forehead, exposing the emotions he rarely lets show._

_I close my eyes to try and make the tears stop but as I open them again, I find fresh ones ready to spill over my cheeks. "What are you going to do, Cato?" I whisper. My voice smothered by this unusual feeling of fear knotting in my chest. "I'm pregnant." I look up to meet his eyes, tears blurring my vision of him. And yes, I am blaming this unstoppable crying on the hormones. "I'm fucking _pregnant_, Cato!"_

"_You won't be long, okay?" he says, and I frown in confusion. "I'll make it go away, Clove."_

_After a while of staring incredulously at him, I finally catch his drift – an abortion. The thought of someone getting inside of me to remove something, repulses me to the point that I want to throw up again. But I know I want to get rid off it, so it is either letting the thing grow, or killing it inside of me – I prefer the latter._

_I nod hesitantly, but both him and I know that this is something I will have to do. A fucking baby will ruin everything I have ever worked for – it will ruin me; my _life_. If this ever reaches public ears I will be thrown out of the Training Center, I will lose my chance to represent my district in the Games, and I will be known as the girl who got pregnant at barely fifteen, instead of the girl who was feared by everyone._

_Cato looks at me, his blue eyes flaring with something I can't identify. "I'll call and make an appointment," he says. "It's all gonna be fine, angel. We'll take care of this."_

Cato comes back with a first aid kit, and stops dead in his tracks when he sees my expression. But he decides not to say anything as he comes up to me and starts pulling the sharp pieces out of my hand. "I'm starting to get used to this now," he murmurs coldly, looking up at me the slightest before his attention returns to my blood-soaked arm. "You need to stop hurting yourself whenever you get mad," he says gently, as if he is afraid I'm going to snap again. "It's not good for you."

I flinch a bit as he pulls out a splinter, and I'm kind of glad I have regained my sense of feeling. "It is the only way I can gain control over myself again. Physical pain makes me lucid through the madness that's my anger, Cato. It keeps me sane." I know he doesn't understand. Though he has his tantrums, he always knows how to calm himself down. But when my violent anger breaks loose, I lose myself in the darkness of fury.

He studies my face for a long time, before finally continuing with patching me up. "You need to find another strategy to deal," he says.

The annoyance of frustration settles in my chest, and I let out a huff of irritation. "And what do you suggest that should be?" I ask, looking down at him coldly. But he doesn't catch my stare, as he is still too busy with cleaning one of the wounds for mirror-pieces.

He sighs. "I don't know, Clove. You need to figure out what is best for you, but this-" He holds my left arm up in front of my face, where small crescent-shaped wounds are still bleeding the slightest. "-is _not _acceptable."

"How do you deal then, almighty Cato?" I say half serious, half sarcastic. "How do you calm yourself down from your violent anger?"

"I think about the only part of you that doesn't make me wanna tear my hair out in rage," he says.

We lock our gazes for the slightest second, as I try to read the answer in his eyes. But as always; Cato is too good to cover his emotions, and I have problems catching his drift. The violent, blood-thirsty Cato, I have dealt with for many years, and know exactly how to read. But the caring Cato he has been lately, is new to me, and I still have problems figuring him out. "And what part is that?" I ask in a strangely hushed voice.

The look on his face is so utterly serious, that I know he is not kidding when he voices his words. Even though words like these are the ones he uses to taunt me with. "The part of you I can't stay angry with: your vulnerable side, Clove." The surprise of those words, confuses me. "When you cry, or when you're naked, and I'm studying you. I see the nervousness in your eyes _every time _you lay naked before me, and that's a moment where it feels so wrong to be mad. And that's what I think about to calm myself down."

I can't help but smile inwardly through the seriousness, about Cato's ability to steer our every conversation to one on a topic where I'm naked. But the inside smile soon falters, as I'm still faced with the impossible obstacle which is learning how to control my anger. "So you basically think about me naked?" I ask him, suppressing a smirk which shouldn't really be there.

He grins, and I know that is a yes. But his face grows serious way too fast, and he says, "Why don't you think about something that doesn't make you mad?"

I let out a short, sarcastic laugh. "There is nothing in my life that doesn't make me mad, Cato. You do – you know exactly how to make me so fucking furious, and my father does too. Everyone I've ever met have found their way to make me angry, and even everything about myself makes me mad."

I'm done discussing this, but apparently, Cato isn't. "There isn't even one memory of us that doesn't make you angry?" he asks with heaved eyebrows, and with an incredulous look on his face, as if he doesn't quite believe that fact.

I shake my head. "Every one of those rare mushy moments we have shared, has bad memories linked to them. You know those times you took care of me after.." I hesitate the slightest bit, because this is a topic I usually avoid at all costs. I sigh. "..um.. the miscarriage? One of those memories could have been a less angry one, but I was so furious with you, because you were the one who put me in that position in the first place. I was so pissed at you for getting me pregnant, and for making me so pathetic that I was _sad _after losing the thing. Those memories where you act more like a boyfriend, and less like a controlling asshole could have been happy, but they aren't because I was so fucking pissed, and I still am."

Cato doesn't glare at me like he usually does, but rather stares coldly. "Well, _sorry _for being such a pain in your ass then, _angel,_" he drawls icily. "It's not like you're such a joy to be around."

I snort angrily at him, but I really don't feel like arguing tonight. I feel like sleeping, as every ounce of anger I have possessed whirled inside me like the ultimate tornado, and when it was first let out, it left me so utterly tired. He finishes patching me up, and I meet his slightly angered gaze. "Don't," I tell him. "Not tonight. Not when everything has been so bad already. Just _please_ don't, Cato."

Almost pleading with my eyes, I look at him. And he seems to understand the emotional trauma I have been through, as his eyes softens noticeably with my almost-plea. "Just for tonight," he tells me. I nod – I can live with that.

He leans in close to rest his forehead against mine, and I brush my lips against his, muttering into his mouth quietly, "Make it go away, Cato." Referring to the bad memories, to the emptiness my anger left, and to the aching that is everywhere, but yet doesn't want to be located.

And making it go away is exactly what he does, as he presses his perfect lips against mine, and forces his tongue into my mouth. Before I know it I'm without clothes, and being carried into the shower by my hungry man. When I hit climax, I growl a low, "I hate you," against his skin.

I can feel him smirk against my neck, "I hate you too, angel," he whispers, the sound muffled by my throat. When he finally pulls out, and sets me down, my legs are shaking and I find it hard to stand. Eventually I manage though, and Cato helps me wash of the drying blood on my arms, thighs, and even on my stomach. We finish in the shower, and find my room so incredibly destroyed that we decide to sleep in his instead.

When we are tucked into bed, laying in each others arms I can finally let go off all the anger I hold. If only for tonight when I'm wrapped safely in the arms of the boy who loves me, knowing that this is my definition of true perfection.

"Sweet dreams, princess," Cato taunts tiredly. He uses that nick-name just to get under my skin. It always works.

But even though annoyance has settled, I decide to play along in his little game. "If I'm a princess, does that make you my prince?" I ask, making lazy patterns with my finger over his smooth skin. I can feel his muscles underneath, and I love the familiar feeling of his sculpted chest beneath my small palm.

"I'd be the king. They have all the power," Cato replies, yawning. "And you could be my beautiful queen." He strokes my hair carefully, his finger going from my hair and tracing my cheekbone before sliding to my lip, where it lingers softly before he pulls away – a surprisingly gentle gesture to be him.

"I'd like that."


	10. When Feelings Whirl

10.

When Feelings Whirl

The confusing event;

When feelings whirl

Swirling dangerously around

Without any reckless sound

* * *

><p>"<em>Overdose and dying on our drugs and our love. And our dreams and our rage. Blurring the lines between real and the fake. Dark and lonely, I need somebody to hold me. He will do very well. I can tell, I can tell." National Anthem, Lana Del Rey<em>

* * *

><p>My eyes fly open quickly, as a too-familiar feeling wakes me with a jolt. And I startle awake my still sleeping boyfriend, as I tear out of his grip, leap onto the floor, and run to the bathroom. The only thing I have time for before the bile makes an exit through my mouth, is to kneel in front of the toilet.<p>

Fuck it! This is _not _the right time to become sick. Fucking Capitol and all its good food. "Clove?" I hear Cato groggily say from the bed. The bed creaks in protest as he shifts his weight, readying to get up. "Clove?" he says again, now he sounds more awake, more alert – alarmed.

Suddenly I see something in the corner of my eye, and I whip my head around to face what looked like a shadow. Icy dread settles in my whole body as I see that it is not a shadow but a person standing before me. _No, no, no! He is dead! He is fucking dead! _The shadow is a man – a sick, disgusting man, who likes to smother a girl's innocence by touching her the most inappropriate way.

Fear settles in my body, and gathers like a knot in my throat, blocking the scream that wants to tear its way free from my lungs. As he comes closer, my usual instinct to attack the enemy, fails me, and the instinct of fleeing takes over. I stumble backwards on the floor, my stylist slowly approaching me, with that disgusting grin on his face. "Aren't you a pretty little thing?" he breathes, looking down at me, before starting to unzip his pants. All I can do is staring up at him, paralyzed by the gut-wrenching fear taking hold of my naked body.

He bends down and starts to climb on top of me, caressing my breasts as he does so. _No. _I'm not going to let him do this to me again. His fingers are finding their way inside of me, and I can't let him do this. Suddenly snapping out of the paralyzed state, I push him away, but my hands are only met by air. He is gone.

I don't understand. He was there. Right _there. _He was taking his clothes off, he was climbing on top of me, he was _feeling _me. I felt it. I felt it with every terrified fiber of my body. Then how can he just disappear?

I can hear Cato's footsteps approaching, and I know I have to get my breaths of horror under control. He can't know about this – nobody can ever know about this. Reliving that disgusting feeling of my stylist's skin touching mine, makes the nausea swim in me again, and I find myself, once again, throwing up.

As he finds me kneeling before the toilet bowl -my pale, naked body only covered by a pair of panties- covering my breasts and retching my insides up, he goes remarkably silent. "Angel?" he asks quietly after a while in a strained voice.

When I have thrown up everything I can throw up, I stand up shakily to face him. "I'm fine," I growl, my voice shaking, and the lie is so thin that I can see it breaking before my eyes. "I just think all the food is just getting to me." My voice is less shaky, as I have gained more composure over myself, but he doesn't seem too convinced by the most probable reason. I could be getting sick, but I rarely do, so this is the most likely explanation, as I have eaten a lot of the too-delicious-to-be-good-for-me Capitol food. And as I usually never eat this much I think I might have finally reached my limit. The second time I threw up though, is because of a reason he will never know. And I have to get my act together to not expose the ice cold horror roaming my chest.

Cato shakes his head, and that sharp grim look on his face, tells me he remains unconvinced. "You're a terrible liar, Clove," he says, his voice cold, and almost threatening. Even though he would never admit it, I know he hates it with a burning passion when I try to keep things from him. I know because of the utterly terrifying, and dangerous expression his face forms into whenever he reads through my pathetic attempts of lying. "What are you hiding?"

It takes all the self-control I can muster to not look away, and seem guilty. Instead of trying to run away from his question, I meet his gaze steadily, ready to face the big obstacle: lying to Cato. "I'm not hiding anything," I insist stubbornly, and glance up at him with a look I hope holds my usual coldness.

"I've known you for a long time, you know. I can read you like an open book, and I know you're hiding something. So why won't you just spare us both the trouble and tell me?" This starting to sound like one of our screaming fights, this is always how it begins.

I shake my head. "I'm not hiding anything," I tell him, and stubbornly cross my arms over my bare chest. He looks down at me with an incredulous expression, and I know he isn't the least convinced about what I'm saying is true. And I'm determined to make him believe otherwise, because he doesn't need this atop of everything else. He doesn't need to know that his girlfriend is seeing her dead stylist doing things to her that she dreads with her whole evil being. _What if he comes back? Next time I will fight. I will fight, and I won't let him do that to me again._

Cato shakes his head with an unamused laugh, "Really, Clove? Didn't last night mean anything to you? Didn't it teach you anything? I'm here," he says, gesturing toward himself. "I'm here, Clove. I'm here. You don't have to keep stuff from me, okay? I know everything is just so fucking messed up right now, and I'm here, angel, 'cause I'd rather you take everything out on me, than on yourself." He sighs barely audibly, and reaches out for me to place his hands on each side of my waist, and pulls me closer to him. I'm still covering my breasts, but I let him drag me closer. "I can take some of that weight you carry on your shoulders, Clove."

With a frustrated frown, I search his eyes, and find nothing but true sincerity. "I'm fine, Cato," I tell him, and step out of his grasp. "I don't need you to keep me together. I'm _fine._" Glaring up at him, I make my face into a mask of stone to convey that I actually am okay.

He nods, and an odd look -one I can't identify- crosses his face, "If you say so," he says. To my surprise he doesn't push it any more, and I cover my confusion by brushing past him, on my way into the shower. Twisting my head to glance over my shoulder, I find him already gone.

The shower is like a big monster, ready to devour me. And I kind of want it to, as I know the awful feeling lingering on my skin will be less prominent then. Dropping my towel, I catch a glimpse of the pale, naked skin beneath, which is crawling with small germs. I can almost see them come to life on my breasts, my arms, my thighs, and taking shape as my former stylist's head. Slamming my fist into one of the buttons, the burning hot water gushes down from above, and shoots from the sides, enveloping me in a big storm of water. Scrubbing for my dear life, I find the head-shaped germs gone, but the disgusting feeling still lingers.

Suddenly, my knees buckle beneath me, and I land on my butt on the tiled floor. Bringing my bony knees to my chest, I coil myself into a ball, and hug myself tightly as if to prevent myself from falling apart even further. _Why is it affecting me this way? It isn't like I was raped or anything, only touched on inappropriate places without my consent. _But the feeling of being used that way is eating me from the inside.

The water is still splashing everywhere, and I have trouble finding a way to breathe properly as the water is streaming from the back of my head, and into my face. In that second, I don't want to breathe either, rather drown all the pain away. The awful feeling just won't vanish, and I want so badly to kill something, to inflict suffering upon others, instead of suffering myself.

A hand suddenly brushes against my arm, and I look up to find Cato kneeling beside me, though he is still outside of the shower. Something in his eyes are accusing me for not telling him I was about to collapse, and something else tells me he is worried, but hides it really well. Heaved eyebrows rests on his forehead, and I can't say I'm glad he found me like this. I was just about to get up, put on my usual cold smirk, and pretend like nothing is wrong. But now I can't. He has seen too much, and I can't play fine anymore.

I tear my arm away from him, and withdraw further into the shower, causing the water to cover my whole being to the point that it is almost impossible seeing there is an actual person in there. Sitting in this exact spot, blocks every air-way I have as the water rushes into my face on full-speed. And I let it, until I'm starting to panic because of the lack of air. Cato pulls me out as soon as he sees my struggling, and places me in his arms.

And as every time he catches me in one of my vulnerable moments, I don't want to look up at him, scared of the judgment that should be there. Even if there isn't any judgment, maybe I will find something just as terrifying – resentment for example. Burying my face in the crook of his neck, I prevent his searching gaze from finding mine. Instead of saying anything, he simply kisses the top of my head, and tightens his arms around me.

Both of us are kind of expecting me to start crying, or do something pathetic like that. But I -amazingly enough- manage to hold the tears back, only by my sheer will to not let my stylist's doings affect me, or at least look like it hasn't affected me.

Eventually, I decide that I have had enough of this pathetic sulking, and start to stand up from Cato's grasp. He lets go, but it seems he does it rather unwillingly, as I have to almost fight my way out of his strong grip. But despite his reluctance to let me go, I still find a way out. Picking up a towel on the way out, I wrap it around my wet body. Shuffling is to be heard behind me, as Cato stands up too, and hurries to follow me. He whirls me around by clenching his hands like fists around my towel, causing it to curl tightly around my body. Cato holds me in place with the brutal hold on my towel, and glares an unusually soft glare down at me. "Are you gonna tell me what that was?" he asks, searching my eyes with a frown knitting his eyebrows.

Gazing just as intensely back, I shake my head determinedly, feeling my forehead adopting the same confusion wrinkle as him. "No," I tell him, knowing there is no reason in telling him it is nothing, because lying that obviously will cause an argument I have no energy to participate in.

He looks confused down at me, as if he thinks it is odd that I confess I'm actually not going to tell him, instead of trying to lie my way out as I usually do. "Why?" he asks me after a while. "Why won't you tell me?"

"It's none of your business, Cato."

Opening his mouth, I just know a violent protest is about to come. But he has no time to voice it before a loud knock is to be heard on the door, and Enobaria's voice sounds through, "It's breakfast." She sounds awfully annoyed. "Now!" The annoyance could also be from the fact that I practically attacked her last night, and something tells me that is the main reason, even though us being late for breakfast is contributing greatly.

"Let go," I tell him quietly. And he does actually listen, he does it rather roughly, but he does let go. Taking a step back, he drags a hand though his messy hair – a sole act of frustration. With me being the usual source of his endless desperation, because I'm that annoying, whiny, broken, whore.

Because that is why I don't want to tell him. Then I will yet again be the whiny bitch who gets in his way. If I tell him, I'm whiny. Even if he does not act like it now, he will yell it in my face the next time we fight. And I'm not whiny, nor am I a whore, or _broken. _I'm Clove Cavia. I'm brave, and strong, and I always pull through. _Always. _I'm _fine_.

He looks down at me with an unreadable expression on his handsome, and incredibly serious face. And I walk away. I don't need him to keep me together, Clove Cavia is perfectly capable of doing that on her own. Once I get into the hallway, I notice Enobaria who has not had the time to move very far from the door. She gives me a knowing look, as she watches my towel-clad form emerge from Cato's room, on my way into mine. A knowing, but not approving look. In fact, the scowl painting her face promises anything but approval – approval is far, far away.

Ignoring her too, I stride to my own room, slamming the door rather loudly shut for Cato to hear that he is not welcome. Chaos has settled in my mind as I frantically search for something to cover my skin with, that is not a tiny towel. Eventually I decide on a pretty covering training outfit, hoping that the crawling stylist germs won't appear.

When I'm done, I make my way to breakfast. Cato is not exactly hiding his stare as I walk in. He still wears that odd expression on his face, but I can see the effort to keep himself in check. Sitting down beside him, I don't acknowledge him in any way, and nod respectfully to Enobaria. After all, I kind of lunged for her last night, and I think I struck her pretty hard before she gained control over me.

"I'm sorry I attacked you," I say, for once I'm swallowing my pride to pay respect to my elders. I can feel Cato glancing at me incredulously - he is obviously shocked as it is not often you see Clove Cavia apologizing. But Enobaria is one of the few people who actually has my respect, and frankly, not respecting her is like a suicide mission. "I lost control."

"I'll live," she says, grinning the slightest. "But you struck me quite good. I didn't think there was so much strength in that bony thing you call a body of yours." And that must be her way of telling me I'm too thin. I sigh quietly for myself, and roll my eyes at her not nicely phrased statement.

"But your father on the other hand.." she continues, and pauses dramatically with a glare. "You strangled him, Clove. A little bit longer and he would have died. He is your freaking _father_, and I know you have your differences, but_ really_? Strangling him to death is not the answer to your problems." But it is the answer. My father is the definition of pure evil, and he needs to be killed. He needs to have one of my knives lodged deep into his heart. I need him to be buried deep down in the ground.

She glares at me, and I stare at her emptily. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Clove?" The seriousness in her voice alarms me, and that look of authority even more. Suddenly she slams her hand into the table, and I flinch the slightest as the loud noise seems to bounce back and forth inside my brain. "It's _not _acceptable! I've tried to get it through your thick scull, and tell you that you're playing a dangerous game here, Clove. Your actions will have consequences. But you don't seem to want to listen to me! And I'm saying this for the very last time: if you don't get your act together they'll kill you. It's as simple as that. I bet Snow already knows everything about your escapades and you'll be killed before you can say 'blood' if you don't pull yourself together. They won't have a victor who can't control herself."

Her words make my fury flare, anger is seething beneath my skin and I can feel it slowly boiling in my veins. _Breathe, Clove, _I think for myself. _Close your eyes, count to ten and fucking _breathe. Cato lays a comforting hand on mine -which are resting in my lap- as he sees my struggle, both of us having momentarily forgotten about our slight disagreement earlier. Eventually I manage to swallow the fierce anger, knowing that if I snap just once more my chance of survival equals none. And more important: _our _survival_._

"I'll behave," I say coldly, meeting her gaze steadily. And this time I really mean it. I won't go and do anything stupid. I will play nice, even though it is unbelievably hard to control what I never have had the ability to control. I'm not myself when fury takes over. Because when I'm lucid I know I shouldn't go around attacking people, not because of ethics or anything, but simply because it gets me into so much trouble.

She pierces me with her narrowed eyes, it is like she is searching for a lie on my face. She can't seem to find one. "Good," she eventually says. But I'm not sure if she believes me. I mean, I have already promised her to get my act together on several occasions. But that is a promise I have broken. A lot.

The rest of the meal is a blur of delicious food. I don't know what half of the shit I stuff into my mouth is, all I know is that it tastes really good. But when I realize that the reason I threw up this morning must have been because of all these unhealthy food I'm so shamelessly devouring, I manage to stop when I'm full. I could have eaten myself to death with this food.

Cato eyes me carefully in the corner of his eye, even though I know he is trying to be discreet about it. I just _know_ he is watching me – I can feel it. But I still can't seem to figure out the reason behind his strange behavior – something which really infuriates me.

Eventually, we finish eating and make our way to training. As we walk through the hallway, I see that same shadow as this morning in the corner of my eye. My head snaps so fast to the left that I'm about to give myself some kind of whip-lash, and the suffocating feeling I suffered from earlier has come back to choke me. The shadow disappears as soon as I lay my eyes on it, but I saw what the shadow formed – or rather _who_. "No," I whisper, as my breathing turns faster and faster, the cause being the horror blowing through my body. And it is yet again my stylist who has come back to haunt my mind.

Cato's warm hand finds the nape of my neck, and caresses lightly, like he is trying to calm me down. He looks down at me, with a worried look plastered on his face. But I can't seem to focus on his face, as there still are shadows lurking behind him. I try to find the shadow resembling my stylist with my eyes, I try to keep my focus my sole attention on him, to make sure he doesn't come any closer. If he comes any closer he will force himself on me again. I can't let him do that. I won't let him do that.

Cato catches my face between his palms, and forces me to meet his gaze. "Hey, hey, hey," he murmurs lowly, as he searches my eyes, his own practically drowning in confusion. And the frown of concern will soon be permanently etched onto his forehead. "Clove, angel? What's that? What's wrong?"

But I still can't look at him. My stylist could be getting closer any minute! How dare Cato hold me back? How dare the only man who is supposed to protect me, strip away the only chance I have to protect myself? Why doesn't he see the man nearing behind his back? I fight my way free from Cato's grasp, but when I look behind him, Bartholomew isn't there. None of the shadows are there.

Confusion settles in me for real as I glance around the slender hallway to search for him, because he was there. I saw him. Cato cups my cheeks brutally, this time making sure I can't get out. "You need to tell me what's going on, Clove. _Now. _What is this?"

I shake my head violently, feeling my chest heave and drop with every harsh breath that forces itself out of my mouth. Trying desperately to pry myself out of his grasp, I find myself wanting to run away. My struggling only causes his grip to tighten, and a faint growl escapes my lips to warn him. He ignores my warning, lowers his face down to mine, and whispers, "Calm down. It's okay. Whatever is happening, it's okay, Clove. I'm here, remember?" Despite his attempt on calming me down, I'm still squirming in his grip. He chooses to paralyze me completely by pressing me against the wall, and he cuts off the reality around us by using his hands to shield everything that is not him from my sight. Calmness settles slowly as I look into his blue eyes, and I can feel my breathing going back to normal.

After a while of staring at him, I whisper slowly, hesitating as I'm too confused by what just happened to form any coherent or intelligent sentence, "He is everywhere." I try to swallow the knot of utter fear in my throat, but it still remains as a painful lump – a reminder of whatever is going on. "He is everywhere, Cato, and he won't go away."

"Who, Clove? Who is everywhere?"

Closing my eyes, I try to sort out the thoughts whirling in my mind, but find it close to impossible. My mind is a hazy mess, and I can't think straight. And I can't say it out loud, I can't tell Cato. I just can't. I open my eyes to find Cato's staring intensely into mine, and they grow more and more frantic by the minute. "I don't want to talk about it," I whisper pathetically. "Don't make me talk about it, Cato."

He tucks my hair behind my ears on both sides, much like he did the other night. "I won't," he sighs. "But we have to go now, Clove. You need to put on that emotionless mask of yours, okay? Don't let the other tribute see you like this. You can't let anyone see you like this." His voice grows colder and colder with each word he speaks, and I feel relief consume as he is instructing me exactly what I'm going to do. Then I won't have to think about it myself.

Nodding, I let him lead me into the elevator, and I put on that perfected mask which conveys nothingness and nothingness only. Cato grabs my chin just as the elevator door is about to open, and says lowly, "Be the fearless Clove Cavia I know, okay Clove? I don't know what just happened, but you can't let whatever that is get to you. You can take it out on me tonight, but for now you need to lock it up." I stare at him blankly, and he digs his fingers into my chin. "This isn't a suggestion, Clove. It's a command, and you will obey me," he hisses, even though a slight desperation is still smothering his otherwise so cold voice.

I slap his hand away, and glare the slightest at him as he returns to his usual controlling asshole self. "That was nothing, and I'm fine. And I am the Clove Cavia you know – I'm still fearless, as cold as ice."

Cato nods. "Good," he says. "If you break down in public, I'm seriously gonna hit you until you snap out of it, Clove."

"That was not a break-down!" I hiss angrily.

Smirking down at me, he says, "If you say so." He gestures toward the opening elevator door with a surprisingly elegant motion to be him. "Ladies first," he says smoothly, and a teasing grin flares on his face as he sees my irritation. In that moment when I step out of the elevator, I push every thought, every feeling caused by what happened, out of my body, and I make my mind change into that hungry predator state it is in when I kill.

This time when we walk in -together- everybody turns and stares. Some in fear, others in awe and a few in jealousy. The District 4 girl makes a point of glaring especially spitefully at me, but being my superior self, I don't acknowledge her in any way. Cato on the other hand, grins that intimidating shark-grin of his, terrifying the other tributes only with his intimidating aura. He loves being the center of attention.

After throwing some of my beloved knives, I decide to try some other station. I do have many other skills than just throwing knives, though it is obviously what I'm best at. My gaze wanders slowly over the gigantic room, finally landing on the hand to hand combating going on. Marvel is barely managing against one of the burly assistants, and then finally the assistant gains control over him and smashes Marvel's head into the mat they are fighting on, grinning in victory.

I can do that so much better. The assistant obviously has the advantage of strength, but I have the advantage of surprise. Nobody ever expects a small girl to ever defeat someone in close combat, and I'm proud to say that I have defeated guys a lot bigger than me. But the key for me is; never get caught. If they ever get their arms around me, my chance of winning equals about none.

"My turn," I speak up coldly, as I approach them. Marvel looks up at me from where he is laying on the floor, amusement evident on his smirking face. Also the assistant leers at me from where he is poised on top of Marvel. "My turn," I say again, a bit more impatient, and to the head couch of the station this time.

He looks at me uncertainly. "Uh, well, okay," he says slowly, and eyes me up and down, like he is considering not letting me battle because of my size. "You," He points at one of the smaller assistants.

"No," I tell the head couch, glaring with my eyes narrowed into tiny angry slits. "I want him." I point at the burly one who just beat Marvel. He is about Marvel's size and I know I can take him out.

Again, I can feel gazes burning holes in my back – the doubt is practically hanging in the air. Letting my eyes sweep over the room, I see Cato raising his eyebrows at me and I throw him a smirk, one which he returns. He knows I can do this, he has seen me do it many times before.

"You sure y-" The second I hear him questioning my skills, my eyes find his face and I pierce him with a dangerous look – my eyes flashing wildly. Madly. I can see the head couch swallowing heavily before nodding once. "Very well then." He looks at the burly assistant, who is still mocking me with his smirk. "Tremayne, spar with her." The burly guy -Tremayne- has let go off Marvel and is now standing tall and leering down at me again.

"Don't worry, I'll go easy on you, little girl," he tells me, smirking. Of course I'm used to assholes taunting me about my height – District 2 is made of jerks like that. And as usual it makes me angry and even more determined to beat the crap out of him.

I put all the intensity I can muster in the glare of death I send him, and I can see him looking surprised at me. Small girls can look scary too. Deal with it. "That won't be necessary," I tell him, the fury building within is frailly hidden by the fake calm tone in my voice. Even though I'm sounding cold and like no madness has ever touched me, I know my eyes convey a very different story.

Cato once told me I have misunderstood the whole concept of sparring. Apparently you aren't supposed to injure your sparring partner so much that he or she needs to go to the hospital. Well, fuck that. I live for injuring people. What is the fun in sparring if nobody gets hurt?

Tremayne looks at me like a cat on a hunt might look at a mouse. But despite my slight height I know I'm not the mouse in this situation. Clove Cavia is never the mouse. _Never_.

He pops his knuckles, and readies himself to fight by standing in a threatening ready-to-attack stance. I simply stand there, a faint smirk on my lips and a dangerous gleam in my eyes. "I could say I will go easy on you, but then I'd lie," I say. The cruel smirk on my lips grows as I see that surprised look again. It is like he is shocked by my confidence. Well, I wouldn't be a Career if I wasn't confident.

Then the head couch whistles, signaling for the match to start. None of us makes the first move and we wind up just standing there glaring. But unlike his expression, which is starting to falter into uncertainty, mine stays in its same mocking state. I won't make the first move. Simply because I need to know how he decides to attack, because then I can discover the pattern of his fighting.

He suddenly pounces straight for me, finally having had enough of my taunting smile. I easily slink away from his attack and he whirls to face me, the look on his face makes me think he is probably wondering how I could move that fast. And that is exactly the advantage with being small: agility and speed.

His eyes flashes in anger as he sees my smirk, and his fist flies toward me. But I'm fast, and block his punch, before quickly grabbing his hand as he draws back. I jump quickly to the side, using all my force, not letting go of his arm as I do so. He lunges for me but he is about to lose his balance, that is when I kick him in the side, and he stumbles backward. Then I pounce; jumping onto his back, crushing into him full-speed and using all the force in my body to pin him to the ground.

I sit on his back and force his face harshly and roughly into the hard mat. Hard enough to make his nose crunch and he screams in pain. "I told you I wouldn't go easy on you," I growl meanly in his ear, not hiding the evident victory in my voice. The only thing missing now would be my knife so I can finish him off in the most gruesome manner. The thought brings an evil smirk to my face, and I push his head a little harder into the mat for good measure. His nose crunches satisfyingly.

Arms wrap around me, lifting me off him, and I glare spitefully at the head couch as he puts me down. He shrinks back slowly as he sees my look of death, and turns to check on his assistant, who evidently has passed out as he is still laying where I pinned him to the ground.

With my head held high, I strut back to Cato who can't quite hide that proud shark-grin of his. His laughter echoes through the room which has gone remarkably silent. And I just _know _everybody is staring at me. I absolutely hate being the center of attention, even though I love making them fear me. "Everybody's staring at me, aren't they?" I ask him quietly, looking up at him with slightly heaved eyebrows.

He glances around and nods. "Pretty much yeah." I turn to glare at them and they soon go back to their petty attempts to train. The District 4 girl doesn't though, and to my big frustration she instead of glancing away, decides to join me on the knife station. I look to Cato for help so I won't have to talk to that unbelievably annoying girl, but Cato just shrugs and walks off toward the sword station. _He is so helpful.._

Ignoring her, I throw a knife, watching as it flies through the air effortlessly before hitting the target in practiced beautiful perfection. "Impressive," the girl drawls, her voice sugary sweet. _Ass-licker. _From the second I heard her talk, I knew I didn't like this girl – she reminds me so much of Gia. The way she walks, the way she talks, the way she _looks _at Cato, the way she just _blah!_

Slowly I turn my head to her, honoring her with my attention. Heaving my eyebrows arrogantly, I glare at her in spite. She isn't much taller than me so I don't have to throw my head completely back to stare her in the eyes. The girl smiles sweetly at me but there is a certain mean gleam in her eyes, and that sickly sweet smile makes me nauseous. "Why are you talking to me?" I ask her rudely.

Her sweet smile falters, and a frown is set in its place. "I can't talk to you now?" she asks in a whiny voice, clearly offended. She crosses her arms over her chest in a child-like motion – like a child who doesn't get what she wants.

"No," I say simply, a faint smirk gracing my lips.

"Seriously, Clove?" _Ugh, she knows my name. _Why _the fuck _does she know my name? It is not like I have introduced myself to her or anything, at least I think I haven't. You know what, fuck that. I couldn't really care less.

"Look, uh-" I don't know her name and I can't spit her name at her like an insult if I don't know what it is.

"Kara. My name is Kara," she adds helpfully. How _great_. Gia, Kara. Their names even sound alike. Okay, not that much. But enough for it to itch on the spot I can't scratch.

I narrow my eyes at her. "Look, _Kara,_" I spit. "If you insist on following me like a pathetic little dog to try to get me to talk to you I can't stop you." My eyes glint evilly. "At least not _before_ the Games." I flash my infamous sadistic grin to let her know it isn't just a threat. "But can't you just do us all a favor and shut your annoying little mouth?"

"Geez, you're such a bitch!" she says with an incredulous frown.

I lay my hand over my heart in mock-hurt. "Oh, that hurt my feelings _so_ badly," I say sarcastically, watching her as she struggles to figure out what to say. "But let me give you a piece of advice for the next time you try to insult someone: be a little more creative." This is actually pretty funny. I watch as her face grows redder and redder with every word I speak. "Or is that too much for that tiny brain of yours to handle?"

Kara shakes her head, seething with irritation and I can practically smell her frustration. "All I did was complement you, does it hurt to be at least a little nice back?"

"Yes," I say simply, shrugging with a faint grin lingering on my lips. "In fact, it does. I don't do nice. Deal with it."

"No, I won't deal with it. You have no right to talk to me that way." _Puh-lease bitch, _what is your problem? PMS much? I eat girls like her for breakfast.

"Then walk away," I tell her meanly. "And if you talk to me ever again I'll break your nose. Got it?" I watch as her eyes flashes in fear before a defiant look crosses her face. Bitch, just give up already. I _always _win.

Right then, Cato decides to jump into the conversation. Probably trying to save me from causing a scene. "Is there a problem here, ladies?" he asks, his voice sharp, powerful and arrogant. He narrows his eyes as they focus on me. I can't help but notice the look Kara is giving him; it looks like she is undressing him with her eyes. The way she twirls her hair around her fingers, and sticks her chest out, while glancing up at him and biting her lip, makes her look like a whore. Well, it is good the description matches the appearance – so fucking _good_.

A faint smirk crosses my lips, despite Kara's whoring, as Cato's eyes does not leave my face. "Not at all," I tell him and fix my eyes back on Kara. "Kara here is actually leaving to join District 12 on the camp-fire station. She told me how she has problems handling weapons and that she'd better learn how to light a fire so she wouldn't feel utterly useless." Kara begins to protest. "Oh, relax," I tell her. "We'll manage without your delightful company and your _interesting _point of views for a couple of minutes." Sarcasm practically dripping off my voice. "Off you go," I add in a fake cheery voice. And the glare of pure hatred I send her is enough to get her going. _Finally _the bitch left.

"I thought she'd never leave," I say, frustrated. Weighing one of the larger knives in my hand I look up questioningly at Cato who is having a hard time covering his amusement. "Shouldn't you go throw some spears or whatever?"

"Maybe I want to throw some knives," he says arrogantly, raising his eyebrows as if it is a challenge. The thought of Cato throwing knives makes me want to laugh. But I don't though, still carefully holding up my cold killer performance. But let us face it; it isn't really a performance. "Do you have a problem with that, little girl?"

Cato smirks as he sees my annoyance over that old nickname. That was what he called me when we first met, and he has used it to get under my skin ever since. "Why should I?" I ask, flicking my wrist gracefully, and watching as the knife dances beautifully through the air -once again and as always- hitting the target perfectly.

"You're the Queen of Knives and I figured you'd be mad if someone just sauntered into your kingdom." He is right. Knives are _my _thing, not his. But then again, I can't deny him access to my beloved knives. If knives miraculously are the only weapon we get in the Arena, who am I then to deny him to practice with them?

"You're welcome to my kingdom anytime," I tell him, and it isn't before the words are uttered I come to realize how dirty they actually sound.

He smirks arrogantly at me. "I know," he says -amusement evident in his tone- and picks up a knife. He clearly heard what he wanted to hear -being his dirty self- on that one. Actually, he always hears what he wants to hear.

Cato throws the knife and it hits the dummy's arm, no where near any fatal organ. Cato is much better with bigger blades, but I would lie if I say I don't love that I'm better at throwing knives than him. Cato is usually fantastic at _everything _he does, to my big annoyance. And that knives is something I'm better at than him feels pretty damn good.

Glancing up at him, I open my mouth to say something, but he doesn't give me the chance, "Don't give me that look," he interrupts and glares down at me.

I raise my eyebrows in question, "What look?" I ask, actually having no clue what he is talking about.

"_That _look," he growls and glares down at me. Frustration etched into his face. "I would like to see you handle a sword perfectly," he spits sarcastically.

Smirking I roll my eyes at him. It is evident that he hates feeling inferior to me, if only this once. "Try this one," I hold up a medium-sized knife to him. One of the ones which are easier to handle. I smirk to myself, a _beginner _knife. "And don't just throw it. Weigh it in your hand, feel the power of its presence. Treat it carefully, caress it and let it consume your mind. It isn't just a knife, it's a weapon. _Your _weapon. Feel the knife. Be the knife. _Control_ the knife. And when you _know_ your blade, you can throw it."

Cato grunts in amusement, and I can feel myself spark in irritation. "You know you sound crazy when you talk like that, right?" I roll my eyes. Crazy smazy.

"Maybe I do," I smirk arrogantly. "But at least I can hit the target." I smile sweetly up at him and he huffs in angry annoyance. He grumbles something under his breath, and I have a strong feeling it is one of the less nice nicknames.

When Cato throws the knife, the way he throws it so brutally, so gracelessly, so _carelessly _comes to annoy me. Why can't he appreciate the delicate but yet so murderous blade? No wonder he can't hit the target, even if it was to save my life. Cato misses the dummy brutally and my beloved knife flies through the air and clatters noisily to the ground. "Maybe you should just stick with your swords," I suggest, smirking my taunting signature smirk.

"Whatever, Clove," he grunts, and I pick up another knife, throwing it with ease, and unlike him, with _grace._

I smirk at him over my shoulder. "Watch and learn, dickhead," I tell him and I receive a low grumbling growl – a warning. He will soon become very mad if I keep this up, and a part of me wants to make him furious. It is fun to see how much I can get under his skin, before he succumbs into madness, and I love the way he takes out the anger on me by slamming me into a wall and taking me as forcefully as he can, as if to teach me a _lesson_. But the small rational part of me knows that angering him is not a smart thing to do in this situation. Cato has been a little on the edge lately -not that I blame him- and me angering him can be just what it takes to make him really snap.

I can feel him seething with irritation, his annoyance lingers in the air around us. "Watch it, angel," he snarls at me, and I cock my head and feign innocent. Right before he is going to snap at me again, it is announced that lunch is served. Cato brushes past me -still annoyed as fuck- and I follow him with a slightly satisfied smirk plastered on my face

The rest of the day goes by quickly and Cato and I eventually find our way back to our floor. We go our separate ways to our own rooms to shower. Cato is acting strange, and I know it has something to do with that _episode _that happened earlier.

When I'm done showering I slump on my bed. Since I'm still clad only in my towel -my hair wet and drops of water still clinging to my pale skin- I soak the bed. But I couldn't care less as sudden fatigue finds me. Strangely enough. I don't usually tire this easily. I have trained _every _day since I was six -well, almost anyway- and I should be able to handle this. But something tells me that it isn't physically I'm tired. No, I'm in the best shape of my life right now. It is the mental exhaustion which is getting to me. The endless, painful thoughts swirling inside my mind and stirring the tiring feelings in my battered heart.

When I'm almost off to dreamland -where I know I won't find an escape as nightmares always has a way of finding their way into my violent head- the door flies open violently -Cato, who never has seemed to know how to close or open a door silently- and in he strides.

My head is buried in the soft pillow, and I turn my head sharply to look at him where he stands in the doorway. He eyes my almost naked body and a suggestive grin creeps onto his face before he rests his gaze on my face and a slight frown appears on his forehead, but disappears as soon as his eyes trail on my towel-clad form again.

Cato locks the door before slinking toward me. What he wants is so obvious it is not even funny. "Clove," he growls in a deep, seductive and suggestive tone. He creeps into bed beside me and places his big hand on my lower back, suspiciously near my ass. I snort and bury my face in the pillow again.

With a quick motion he has ripped the tiny towel off my body, and I snap my head in his direction, glowering at him. He gives an innocent shrug and I can see his eyes following the curve of my naked body hungrily. He bends down and catches my lips with his. "I'm tired," I grunt when we break away from the kiss.

"And I'm hungry." He grins and moves my wet hair from my neck to gain access to my sensitive throat. "And I'm gonna have my favorite for dessert." He leaves a trail of nibbling kisses and makes his way down to my shoulder. As he bites my shoulder playfully, his hand makes its way over my ass and finds its way down to my inner thigh, caressing gently.

Suddenly he has flipped me over, and I'm laying on my back. "I'm tired," I groan again, dragging my hands over my face slowly and rubbing my tired eyes in the process. His lips curl in a mean grin as they meet mine. Of course he doesn't care that I want to sleep.

"Don't worry, angel. Let me take care of ya." I roll my eyes as he makes his way down my body, and places his head between my legs. He is so fucking stubborn. But then again, I'm not going to complain about receiving _this _treatment.

When he is done, I'm halfway asleep already, lulled by the pleasure that just shot through my body. He doesn't lay down beside me like I expect him to, and instead he goes remarkably silent. After a while of this silence I open my one eye, and find him looking down at me. His gaze is soft as his eyes flicker over my naked body, studying every inch of my bare flesh with an extreme intensity in his blue eyes. Just as I'm about to grow self-conscious, he murmurs softly, "Have I ever told you how unbelievably beautiful you are?"

I frown incredulously. Has Cato finally lost himself? "Did you fall and hit your head or something?" I sit up and cross my arms over my chest. "Or are you just trying to get me to give you some?" Knowing Cato it is probably the latter. He is dangerous when it comes to manipulation, and he knows _exactly _how to manipulate me.

"What? You don't believe it when I complement you? You think I just say it to get into your pants?" He raises his eyebrows in disbelief, then he grins mischievously. "Newsflash, babe. I already did, _without _complementing you."

I narrow my eyes. "You never complement me, Cato." It is true. We show affliction through insulting each other instead. "And besides, complementing me won't get you in my pants." Which is only partly true..

"I just did!" he says, flinging his arms out in frustration. He looks down at me, blue eyes flashing with their rare softness. "And I mean it, Clove," he says. "You're fucking beautiful."

"Shut up, you wimp," I tell him and stand up in bed, moving toward him and coming to a halt right before where he is standing at the end of the bed. With the bed's slight height beneath me I am a lot taller, but I still only hover a tiny inch over Cato.

He coils an arm around my thin waist tightly, pressing me roughly against his broad chest. His other hand cups the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my unruly locks of raven black, wavy hair. My hands rest on his chest, palms laying flat against the muscular surface to really feel his rock-hard, carved muscles. He brings our faces together in a sweet kiss, and I can taste myself on his lips.

With a small sigh, he breaks away from the kiss, and says, "Are you ever gonna tell me what happened this morning?"

"Maybe," I tell him. "When I feel like talking about it." He nods, and studies my face for the longest time. And I make sure I don't convey any of the turmoil taking place in my chest, because he does not need to know, and I'm not whiny. Then, he yet again -and surprisingly without any questions, and without pushing it any further- reaches down to catch my lips with his.

Cato brushes his finger gently up and down my spine, making pleasurable shivers rock through my body. When he breaks away from the surprisingly tender and _nice _kiss, he drags a finger gently over the slowly forming dark circles under my eyes, contrasting drastically to my otherwise so pale complexion. "Go sleep," he commands gruffly.

And I don't think I ever have been so happy to obey him.


	11. When Comfort Isn't Comforting Enough

11.

When Comfort Isn't Comforting Enough

The failing emotion:

When comfort isn't comforting enough

What did we ever do to deserve this fate?

There is nothing to do, we are far too late

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><p>"<em>I'll tell you all how the story ends. Where the good guys die and the bad guys win." Save Yourself I'll Hold Them Back, My Chemical Romance <em>

* * *

><p>I was awoken for dinner, and now, when I'm cradled in my sleeping boyfriend's arms and actually supposed to sleep, rest won't find me. Even Cato's soft snoring -a deep rumble in my ear as my face is nuzzled into the side of his neck- isn't calming me as much as it usually does, and sleep just won't come.<p>

Restlessly, I gently slide out of his arms, being careful not to wake him. Cato stirs in his sleep, and I go silent to watch his slightly moving form. He slowly turns around, spreading his long limbs over the place where I just laid, and grunts indelicately. Then his soft snoring resumes.

Tip-toeing gracefully toward the door, I open it silently and slip out. Only clad in my pajamas -a self-matched pair of Cato's large boxers, which I have to roll up over my hips so they won't fall off, and my own thin camisole- I walk through the dark and eerily quiet corridor. It seems forsaken and utterly peaceful here without all the annoying Capitol accents flying.

And because of a sudden doubt in myself, I stop dead in my tracks – hesitating. What if the shadows come back? What if _he _comes back? I consider walking back to Cato, and lay down in his arms, because nothing bad ever happens to me in his arms. His arms are the only place where I am safe. But instead of falling over to the weak side, I determinedly continue, knowing that Cato needs his sleep. My man tends to get quite moody if he doesn't get all his precious beauty sleep, and with my tossing and turning, how could I possibly not keep him awake?_ I'm a big girl. I can do this._

When I reach the big room containing the largest television, an Avox appears seemingly out of nowhere, startling me badly. _Calm down, it isn't him. _Her eyes flashes in fear as they focus on my face, as if she is expecting me to punish her for scaring the crap out of me. "Do you think you can get me some ice cream?" I ask her quietly instead. My voice lacks its usual smart-ass crudeness and sarcasm. I'm simply too drained for energy to make her scared, but judging by the terrified look in her beady eyes, I know she already is.

She nods, and disappears, as silent and slinking as a shadow. It is something haunting with this place at night. With the bright Capitol lights shining through the windows, casting an eerie light throughout the room and the tongueless servants walking around, following like slithering ghosts. I turn the television on, and I'm relieved when the ridiculous sounds spread through the room, making it less forsaken somehow, less _frightening_. Eventually, the Avox returns with a tray filled with a large selection of different ice cream types. My mouth start watering instantly.

I'm not really allowed to eat ice cream, especially not right before the Games. Since I was six I have followed a strict diet where no sweets of any kind are allowed. But of course, I live for breaking that rule. All rules really.

Even though I know I shouldn't, I give in to my desperate desire. Because in the end the temptation of the deliciousness laying before is too much for me to handle. _Shit._ My attention focuses on the television as I manage to push the guilt out of my mind, and I enjoy the ice cream melting on my tongue. But when I realize what I'm watching, I choke involuntary on nothing else but the chocolate-scented air.

It is a small, fair-haired girl with serious, bright green eyes. It is a girl who is handling a knife with true grace and superior knowledge about the beautiful blade. It is the girl who won the 47th Hunger Games. It is my _mother._

And I'm yet again awestruck by how beautiful she is, even though I have watched her Games before. She looks just like a blonde version of myself, only pretty. She was seventeen when she won the Games, and my heart aches shamefully when I think about how my birth is what killed her.

They show a fast intro with a few of her better moments in the Arena, before they begin with her Reaping. My mother is reaped, and she has a fierce and determined look on her face as she struts onto the stage. It looks like nothing can falter her – she is strong, as cold as ice.

It continues with a brief look on the chariot rides, and then over to her interview. Hearing my mother speak makes my throat feel thick, as she has one of those beautiful voices you just want to hear more of. And haven't I often dreamed of her voice singing me to sleep after my father's brutal beatings? She appears charming but yet deadly, and it seems like the Capitol holds a special fascination with her. It is like she has bound them under her spell, and they react to her every motion with endearment, and applause. She is obviously one of the favorites this year.

Then the 47th Annual Hunger Games begin. The cameras focuses on my mother's beautiful face as she is standing on the metal plate, waiting for the final countdown to end. Cold determination is etched into her serious features, and instead of watching the competition, terrified, like the other tributes, she focuses solely on the pile of weapons in the Cornucopia before her. When the bong rings, she is the first to leap off the metal plate, and dash for the weapons, all done with surprising grace.

My mother is fast, and is the first to arrive the Cornucopia, grabbing a knife and flinging it mercilessly into the heart of someone nearing her. The way she moves, and most of all, throws the beautiful knives reminds me so much of myself.

I find myself piling a new serving of the delicious ice cream into my bowl. Sinking back into the soft couch, I bring my knees to my chest, wrapping one arm around them carefully. Balancing the over-filled bowl expertly on my knees, I use the other hand to grip the spoon tightly, as if it might be ripped out of my grasp very soon if I don't grip it hard enough.

I shouldn't be doing this. Eating ice cream and watching my mother's Games. It does nothing good for me what so ever, and I'm sure I have already gained a few pounds. But the ice cream comforts me in a weird way Cato never could. Even though his arms wrapped tightly around me makes everything seem okay, I still feel like sulking on my own. Sometimes I just need to be alone with my violent thoughts. Sometimes I just want to provide my own comfort. To prove that I'm not completely dependent on Cato to manage.

All that has happened these last couple of days has left me hollow and empty, but yet so filled with emotion. If that makes any sense. Probably not, as I haven't really made any lately either. But from the Reaping, to being felt up by a stranger, to our sappy confessions, everything I ever was learned not to feel has been tugging at my heart.

I should be slowly cutting the band that exists between Cato and I. I should be drawing away from him to end our doomed relationship and focus on becoming a victor. I should be thinking of him as my enemy, and my blood-lust should burst every time he enters my mind. But despite the fact that this is all things I should be doing, I know I can't. Cato is my everything, and I won't kill him, no matter what I'm taught to feel. Or not feel, that is.

Little Clove can't separate herself from the heart. How fucking _pathetic_.

My mother's terrified scream rips me out of my miserable daydreaming, as a big bear-like creature has made its way into the Career camp, and is tearing apart everything in its way, human being or not. My mother scampers onto her feet, and runs into the forest, the huge bear following in her heels. She runs down a vaguely tilting slope which the bears feet can't handle, and it stumbles, before rolling down the small hill, so fast that it passes her and hits an enormous rock. The bear jumps onto its feet again, and dashes after my mother, who is now running in the same direction she came from.

Eventually, after reaching the torn camp, one of her allies jumps on the bears back and lodges her sword into the big bear's heart. The bear thrashes around wildly for a second, before falling heavily to the blood-covered ground. Mixing its own blood with the blood it spilled from the torn tributes.

I watch as my mother thanks the rather burly girl of District 4, and they stand together watching as the hovercraft picks up their dead allies' bodies; the girl of District 1 and the boy of District 4. The boys of District 1 and 2 are searching for any useful supplies left, after having both ran away when the bear invaded the camp.

A sudden sound coming from the room and not the television, makes me go entirely still, as if that can make whoever it is, not see me. But I'm pretty exposed here I'm sitting almost in the middle of the large room, and I know the eyes of anyone walking into this room will spot me with the first glance. I soon realize what the sound is: someone's heavy footsteps. And I also know whose footsteps they are; I know those footsteps better than my own.

But I can't bring myself to look at him. Not now when I'm sitting here guilty and pathetic, eating ice cream. I hate appearing weak in front of him. Because Cato knows. Cato knows about all my pathetic little weaknesses, and sad small flaws. He sees them, and I absolutely despise him for it.

The sofa creaks in protest as he sits down beside me, without a word. I know he watches me as I pop another spoonful into my mouth, which makes my guilt spread even more, but I ignore him. Cato leans his back against the rather large armrest, and flings his legs onto the couch, before opening them slightly, making room for me in between them. Without any hesitation, I grab a hold of my ice cream, and crawl closer to him. I let him help drag me in, and I lean back into him with a grateful sigh. Resting the back of my head on his broad chest, I'm still in a sitting position, and I'm still not planning on letting go off my ice cream any time soon.

Cato's hands are resting on my thighs, where he strokes me lightly, almost absentmindedly. It isn't in any intimate manner -not in _that _way anyway- but more like a frail stroke of comfort. "She looks just like you," he growls slowly, and oh, so softly, almost hesitant. I can feel him tensing behind me, as if he thinks those words might strike a nerve, and he waits in careful anticipation for my reaction.

A barely audible sigh finds its way out my lips, as this topic is one of those I don't like to talk about, and Cato _knows _that. "I'm the one who looks like her," I tell him quietly, and he rests his forehead against the top of my head for a couple seconds, before drawing back. We both go silent to watch my mother hunt with the other Careers for any tribute who is unlucky enough to get in their path. A ghost of my usual smirk reaches my lips as I see the boy of District 2 decapitate a girl. Her head falls to the ground heavily, making a weird hollow sound as it hits the hard surface.

When I finish my ice cream, I lean forward and place the empty bowl on the table, anticipating a mean remark from Cato. The remark does -indeed- come, but not as meanly as I had expected, "You shouldn't be eating that, it's not good for you," he grumbles lowly in that usual cold voice of his.

"You shouldn't be holding me, it's not good for either of us," I retort snappily. I love this familiar feeling of our usual mean bickering.

I can see him smirk, even though I'm facing away. I just _know_ his amused, but yet so arrogant grin is there, and the vague amusement in his tone as he replies, strengthens my suspicion remarkably, "Touche, angel. Touche."

"Quit calling me that," I tell him, snapping more playfully than angrily, but yet; those nick-names are annoying me greatly. "I'm not an angel." More like the devil. Or a monster.

His arms tightens around me, and he presses me closer to his chest, before leaning down to whisper in my ear, "You're my little dark angel," I can hear the taunting smirk in his voice, and it makes my face grow hot, and flustered. Not only by the slight anger, but also by the way his lips brushes against my neck as he draws back. "angel."

Entwining my fingers with his, I murmur angrily but yet so soft, "Asshole." And I can feel the low rumble of a laugh as his chest heaves and drops quickly, and forcefully with every chuckle.

"Yes, angel?"

"Cato, stop!" I tell him, and hit his leg in annoyance. Because he knows how irritating I find this name-calling, and I know that is exactly the reason why he does it. He lives for pissing me off. And I guess, in a way, I live for being pissed off by him, as he attempts another strategy to do so every day. It _always_ works.

"As you wish, _angel,_" he drawls, making sure to put a lot of pressure on the word 'angel', as he pronounces it loudly in my ear for me to hear it properly.

With an annoyed huff, I sink into his chest, letting his usual warmth and familiar scent enclose and soothe me. The action on the screen flashes before my eyes in bright vivid colors, as I choose to ignore Cato and return my attention to it. At first I'm not sure what is happening. Then I realize it has evolved a violent argument in between the two males of the Career Pack left, where they both are getting ready to draw their weapons. My mother and the girl of 4 draws back as the District 1 boy lashes out at his ally. They land in a struggling heap on the ground, both fighting to gain control over the other, which proves to be a great challenge as they are pretty even-matched.

In the end the boy of District 2 is the better fighter and thrusts a sword brutally into his enemy's scull. He rises in triumph, a grin of sweet victory evident on his face, but the girls of the Pack seem unimpressed by his violent behavior, and they all continue their hunt, the sad remnants of District 1 being picked up by the hovercraft to never see daylight ever again.

As District 2 wins the violent and pointless fight, Cato mutters something under his breath about how District 2 always beats District 1's ass. And I guess it is true, most of the time. I can't see District 1 being trained as brutally, violently and hard as us with all their sparkle and luxury. Even though they might have some kind of blood-lust hidden deep within, their endless glittering outshines that fact immaculately.

"I'm serious about the eating, Clove," he growls lowly and abruptly in my ear, startling me out of my wandering thoughts. "You can't be eating like this, not now. You need to be in perfect shape when we get into the Arena." I tense as he brings up my fucked eating habits. The thing is: I know. I fucking know, and the fact that he is still scolding me for it, makes my anger flare. I let my anger surface in the least violent way I know; an indelicate snort, and digging my nails into the flesh of my arm. "I'm gonna ask you something, and you will answer honestly, okay?" And I know that last part is a threat. _If you don't answer me honestly, I will... (Insert death threat here)_

"Shoot," I tell him, emotionless. Choking every emotion from my voice and face with the strangest coldness set in its place, as this question doesn't seem like anything I would want to answer. And if it is one of those questions, I refuse to answer honestly, and lying will be so much easier through an emotionless mask, than through swirling feelings.

"Clove," he growls, and the serious undertone of his otherwise so mean voice, makes me tense in confused anticipation. "Are you eating all this shit to just fucking throw it up again?"

And those words strike me hard, and make me tense even more. _I never knew he noticed.. _There is that part of my past which I'm utterly ashamed of, and this is exactly it: the meaningless days after the miscarriage. Where the world had seemed to lost all its color, and my knives no longer felt sharp. My comfort was food, because I wouldn't allow Cato to touch me, in fear of getting pregnant again. So I ate, and ate, and ate. Then I threw up, ashamed I had no control, ashamed I wasn't strong enough. I realize that me completely stiffening makes me seem utterly guilty, and I force myself to relax into him again. With a deep breath, I ask lowly in a defensive snarl, "What makes you say that?"

"I'm not fucking stupid, Clove. And I do in fact notice when something's wrong." He sighs, but it really sounds like a breath of anger. "After the miscarriage you ate so fucking much and I could hear you in the bathroom, Clove. I'm not stupid," he repeats. He wraps his hand carefully around mine -which is still digging mercilessly into my own arm- and easily tears it from the -now- crescent-marked- skin. "Are you doing that again? Huh?"

With a bit of a struggle, I turn in his arms, piercing his eyes with my own violently green ones to glare at him. "No," I tell him sharply, as I finally manage to stand up on my knees to face him. By shaking my head in a violent manner, I emphasis my denial. "No," I tell him again, at lack of a better word.

He grabs my face with his big hands, and digs his fingers into my scalp in the process. "I don't believe you," he tells me slowly, growling the words at me, and they escape as one word, instead of a sentence. "Why are you throwing up then? Huh?"

And I know by the fierce intensity in his eyes, the urging anger in his voice, and the brutal grip of his hand, that this is a question I can not avoid. This is something I can't lie to him about either, as he actually saw me throw up this morning. Closing my eyes with a sigh, I try to come up with something intelligent to say, even though it seems so impossible. How do I convince my overly suspicious man that I'm not bulimic, and that I have never suffered from bulimia?

"It was only once." _Tiny lie. _It was twice. "And it was because of the food, okay Cato? Because you know me, and you know how I get with sweets, and good food. I just ate too much, that's all, okay? I didn't throw up on purpose. It just _happened._ And I'm never going back to..._that,_" I tell him, more quietly. "I'm not that pathetic any more."

He seems to believe me, as he nods with a grim expression taking hold of his good-looking face. "I promise you, princess. If you ever go back to doing that to yourself, I'm gonna beat some sense into that pretty head of yours." And I don't doubt his threat for a second as he realizes his tight hold on my face roughly.

I sigh angrily, and lower my head to rest it on his broad chest. "I'm not a little girl anymore," I mutter into his chest, my words being muffled by his shirt. And I'm fucking tired of being treated like one. "And if you say that I'm always gonna be your little girl, I'm seriously gonna smack you," I growl at him.

A bark of a laugh rumbles deep within his chest, and escapes his lips like a mean, snarling melody. "You'll _always-_" He chuckles tauntingly. "-be my _little _girl, angel."

My head snaps up dangerously fast -almost giving myself a whip-lash- and in that same fast motion, I ready my hand to smack him over the face. He needs to be taught a lesson, but somehow I know that it is pretty damn impossible to force something he is unwilling to learn into that thick scull of his. And he proves so when his quick reflexes awakens with my fast movement, and catches my hand only inches from his cheek. My other hand soon follows, and so does his, ending with both my hands captured and held tightly in his possession. He spreads both our arms wide, and straight out at our sides, making my face fall right before his. He grins cheekily at me, and snarls tauntingly, "Nice try, angel."

He lowers me slowly, until I finally am within reach of his mouth, and catches my lips easily and brutally with his own. I kiss back with equal brutality, and he eventually lets go of my arms so I can wrap my hands around his head, and crush his lips even more violently onto mine. Smirking against his lips -a smirk that promises no good- I nibble at him softly, but then more roughly, catching his lower lip in between my teeth and making blood trickle slowly down his chin.

"Bitch," he murmurs, already attacking my lips again, and not caring the tiniest bit about his blood which gives our kiss a coppery flavor. Another screech from the television startles us both badly, and I almost jump from where I'm sitting on top of him. The terrified screech comes from a pathetic tribute about to be killed by the District 4 girl. The District 2 boy has been killed while Cato and I were rather busy, and my mother watches with a grim look on her face as the other girl kills the victim clean and quick.

This alliance has lasted unnaturally long, and I know that they soon have to break from each other. There is only one victor, right? As I think those very merciless words, I can feel my heart practically sinking into my stomach. _One victor, indeed. _My mother and the District 4 girl has been sticking together too long, and even though they perfectly complement each other, they are still enemies.

My mother seems to have gotten that very same idea, as the morning after they split up. But what is so surprising -even though I know it happens, it still manages to amaze me- is that when they part the two girls cling to each other in a hug. They eventually draw back, and they stand there looking at the other, both with cold expressions on their faces. "Good luck, Scarret," my mother says at last, nodding grimly in one last acknowledgment.

Scarret nods back just as grimly, if not more. "Good luck yourself, Mallory." Then both girls turn and walk in opposite direction, neither turning to look at the other. I don't know what made them this good friends, but it is obvious that they aren't enemies as they give each other one last shot at life with parting. But I know -because I have watched my mother's Games countless times- that they in the end are the last two standing, where my mother kills Scarret, but not without words of remorse on her lips.

I notice Cato watching me closely as I'm still standing on my knees between his feet, facing him. I crouch weirdly to rest my cheek on his chest, and Cato's strong arms wrap around me tightly, like a warm blanket of familiarity and comfort. My face is still turned against the television, and I watch the events leading up to the two previous allies fighting to death. When Scarret's canon sounds throughout the forest they fought in, my mother -Mallory Aven Acreve- is announced a victor, and gets picked up by the hovercraft with minor injuries and that cold, icy look plastered onto her still beautiful features.

Instead of voicing any of the confusing, and rather annoying feelings swirling inside my chest, I reach up to brush my lips against Cato's. Knowing he will understand, because he does after all know me better than anyone else. Better than myself. Our kiss turns brutal, and I press myself into him as if I can physically force us to become one. Cato ravishes my lips in that brutal manner only he can, in that way I have come to absolutely love, and it is like we are fighting to gain control of the other.

His one hand has begun on a journey beneath my thin camisole, to find one of my two external parts. And the way he brushes his thumb against the most sensitive spot, sets a fierce fire of desire to my skin. In one swift motion, he has pulled the camisole over my head, and flung it onto the floor. Him doing so, makes me narrow my eyes – anyone can just walk in on us right now and see us doing whatever dirty Cato has in mind. "Not here, Cato," I hiss through my teeth, and cover my exposed breasts. "Anyone can walk in on us."

He grins meanly. "Don't worry your troubled mind, angel," he grumbles, and tucks a strayed strand of hair behind my ear rather roughly, before removing my hands from my chest. He bends down to give a little caring attention with his tongue, and I can't help but throw my head back and moan as his tongue flickers over my skin, lingering on the spot he knows is my weakness.

When I'm over the first wave of pleasure, I realize hastily that we really can't do this here. We shouldn't be doing it at all. And if Enobaria, or even worse, my father were to walk in on us, I would die of embarrassment. My father mostly knows that Cato and I aren't exactly virgins. _Duh, he got me pregnant.. _But that does not mean that neither my father, nor I, will appreciate it if he was to walk in on us doing the deed. "Cato," I growl at him as he nibbles at my breast. "Damn it, Cato. We can't do this, not now."

"What?" he exclaims in frustration, as I shove him away from me, and I cross my arms angrily over my chest. "What?" he growls again, a dangerous tone creeping into his ever so hostile voice.

Instead of growling back at him, I sigh lowly in defeat. "We shouldn't be doing this," I tell him seriously. "We're about to fight to death in the Arena. We're enemies now, and enemies shouldn't be doing this," I whisper desperately. The blank look on his face makes me slump into him in defeat. Who are we kidding? We couldn't stop being together even if our own lives depended on it. (The funny thing is that they kind of do..) I need him, and it is rather amusing because at times I can't even stand him. I don't even particularly like him either -he is a sick, arrogant fuck- I just happen to...love him.

Wrapping my arms around his thick throat, I bury my face in his neck, feeling his arms coil protectively around my small, half-naked form. "Don't fucking give up on us, angel. We won't go down without a fight." His usual growl in my ear soothes me more than any words ever will.

"I won't if you won't," I tell him, my voice tired and gentle.

"I will never give up on you, Clove. Never. You have my word, angel." I kiss his neck to let him know I feel the same way. Then I close my eyes and let nothing else but Cato's familiar scent and my mother's soothing voice talking in the background, wrap around me.

A low and rather unfamiliar sound makes my eyes snap open, and I'm shocked to see my father standing in the room's entrance. He looks battered and beaten; all my doings. And I would lie if I say that it didn't bring me pleasure to see him hurt, and to know that I was the one who brought this physical pain upon him. He clutches a glass of whiskey tightly in his shaking hand, and his gaze is completely plastered on the television screen where my mother walks into her interview with Ceasar, looking as beautiful as ever in a long shimmering dress.

The look of utter heartbreak on my father's face, surprises me. It is like the emotionless, cruel father who raised me so violently and swore to make my life a living hell, is just broken beneath that cold surface. I can see that he truly loved my mother, no matter if it was in his own twisted way.

He obviously notices he is being watched, as his eyes tears away from the screen and focuses -seemingly unwillingly- on my face. My father doesn't scowl as he normally does whenever his gaze lingers on me, his expression is instead simply blank when he sees me wrapped tightly into my lover's arms. Cato obviously hasn't seen him, as he is facing the other way. And I wonder briefly if my father has been standing there long enough to see what was going on between Cato and I a couple of moments ago. Red spreads humiliatingly over my cheeks as that thought whirls in my mind.

My father just looks at me, that blank expression still taking hold of his aging face. It is strange how he isn't scowling like he usually does. I think this might be the only type of interaction we have ever shared that isn't hostile or cruel. And with a simple stare back, I think I might see a faint hint of compassion on my father's otherwise so cold face. But it could have just been the lights.

I close my eyes and nuzzle into Cato's neck, when I open them, he is gone, disappeared like the ghost he is. I soon forget about my father's strangeness, as Cato is providing a distraction by running his finger gently up and down my spine, making me shudder pleasurably. With a sigh on my lips, I sit back and watch as his eyes searches my face. My hair falls around my shoulders, and delicately covers my bare chest, much to Cato's dismay. He gently brushes my hair from my neck, so it cascades down my back, and yet again exposing me to his hungry gaze.

This time when he lowers his head, it is to kiss my prominent collarbone, before making his way up my sensitive neck, eventually stopping beside my ear. "Play with me, angel," he whispers huskily, his voice alone enough to get the lust in me burning. "Let me take all your troubles away."

And as he stands up -me still carefully cradled in his possession, though I have wrapped my legs around his waist to hold myself as close as possible to him- I kiss his neck, nibbling, biting, doing whatever I know turns him on. Because this might be one of our last chances to be together. Ever. And I'm going to embrace every second of the little time we have left, knowing well enough that it will be so much harder to let go if I do.

But as he carries me through the hallway -cupping my ass with his big hands, and grinding me into him- I know that even though we are faced with the impossible, he is still the one who can -indeed- take all my troubles away.


	12. When The Heart Speaks

**Author's note: **Thank you all, so much, for reviewing! I appreciate it dearly. You all encourage me with your kind words. Also a big thanks to those of you who have added this story to their favorites/alerts.

- Drea

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><p>12.<p>

When The Heart Speaks

The seldom time;

When the heart speaks

Whispers which screams

By all her evil means

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><p>"<em>No meat-hook is as bad as a hook in the heart. There's no pain that can make the non-feel feel at all. A hole through the skin will not make you whole. What is dominion over a faltering soul <em>_and a heart that has severed from the body? Is it anything to control someone that has been broken open?" Meat-hook, Hannah Fury _

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><p>The dummy slowly grows into a weak, pathetic boy before my sight, his wide, scared eyes staring terrified at the knife in my hand. The boy tries to flee, but he is clueless about the fact that when Clove Cavia has pointed you out as her prey, you can't escape. You can try though, which will only result in dying as a pathetic coward. The knife flies in an elegant dance through the air, and eventually pierces the boy's heart. There are no words for the joy consuming me as I see the light in his eyes grow faint, before it dies completely.<p>

Then the withering boy before me, turns into the dummy it really is, and I can't help but stare dumbfounded at the place I just saw blood so clearly oozing from where I pierced the boy's chest. My vivid imagination has yet again proved to be -indeed- vivid, and I'm not sure if I'm pleasured or rather scared of how well I can envision blood trickling in waterfalls. In the end I settle on pleasured, knowing that it is too joyous to murder for it to be scary.

But the joy of the illusion does nothing to falter the emotion tightening shamefully in my chest since the nightmare I had last night. After Cato and I was done, he fell asleep as quick as he always does after our violent activities, leaving me alone to mull on my dreadful thoughts. And when I had finally fallen into much-needed slumber, I'm sure I awoke only minutes later of the feeling of falling. Further and further into the endless abyss, voices of the people I hate the most screaming at me. Things which I buried deep in my heart to never see daylight again. Things which I know I should brush off. And things which causes pathetic emotions which I again choke out of my body to become the unfeeling murderer I am.

But even though I hear things like my father screaming hateful words, a baby's cries and Bartholomew's, "Aren't you a pretty little thing?", it still does not beat the utterly frightening feeling I get of falling. It is pathetic really, and if I told Cato that the reason I wake up all sweaty and wound up is because I imagine myself falling aimlessly through the air, I know he would laugh at me.

My knife lodges itself mercilessly into the moving targets -one more brutally than the other- in a desperate attempt in getting rid of the growing feeling of pathetic fear in my chest. After all, I am a Career, and Careers do not get afraid. They are fearsome,_ fearless _and unfeeling. I'm all those things too, I have to be.

I notice Cato glancing at me from the other side of the room, eyebrows vaguely heaved. He clearly sees that something isn't right. But again, nothing is right. And his heaved eyebrows seem annoyingly mocking. But what about Cato isn't mocking? It is like his expression tells me to stop being such a drama queen. He has told me that a lot, whenever my temper is about to be lost. "Stop being such a drama queen," he would say, and make my irritation flare into fury. I throw him a smirk just to set him at ease, even though I would rather throw my knife at him to get that taunting look off his face. Not actually hitting him -of course-, I can't hurt him, not fatally anyway. But throwing it in his direction, just as a warning.

I return my attention to the moving targets before me. Laying all my anger into the next throw, the knife flies full speed into the stupid dummy, which I really would have preferred if it was an actual living being. But no matter how hard I try to conjure that pathetic boy, my imagination just won't let me see it again.

A sudden hand on my arm tears me out of the zombie-like trance my mind automatically puts itself into whenever I'm training, and I whirl to face the person attached to the arm. I recognize the blonde hair of the girl standing before me easily, and she has a rather scared expression plastered on her pretty face. "Whoa," she says, jumping back as I almost hit her when I spin. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," I grumble. Angry she could sneak up on me so easily. Looking up at her -damn, she is tall- I give her my best mean smirk. "So, Glimmer," I say, a venomous tone creeping into my otherwise so snarling voice. "What brings you over to the knife station?"

She shrugs. "I guess I need to learn how to handle a knife better." And the way she admits a flaw so carelessly -like it doesn't even matter- comes to annoy me, and surprise me at the same time. Of course it matters. It is a _knife –_ the most beautiful and deadly weapon ever made. How can she not know how to handle a knife? It is not that hard. Well, for me, anyway.

"What kind of weapon do you _know _how to handle, then?" I ask, rather rudely. My focus has returned to the large collection of murderous blades in front of me, and I try to determine which one is the most beautiful, and perfect knife there. But it proves to be a challenge, as they are all really pretty perfect, each having their own deadly potential.

I can see Glimmer glancing at me from the corner of my eye, watching me as if she really isn't certain if letting me beside those knives is such a good idea. "I'm pretty decent with a bow and arrow," she says at last. "And I know how to wield a sword." Glimmer shrugs meekly, yet again as if it isn't that big of a deal.

It is like she is spitting in my face. Weapons are my life. It is everything I have ever known – weapons, murder, hate. And that little miss innocent is treating it as it isn't really that important, really gets far beneath my skin. How dare she? She can easily be the most desirable tribute, with her long flowing blonde hair, blinding white smile, and perfect body. People will fight over the honor of being her sponsor. But being desirable does nothing if you can't handle a weapon.

"Have you ever killed someone?" I ask her abruptly, trying to distract the growing annoyance in my chest, which often has a knack for becoming anger after a while. A sadistic grin grows slowly on my face as I think about all those _I _have killed. Those I made suffer, before they left the world in the most painful way. Those who died with my face being the last thing they saw, and my cruel snickering the last thing they heard.

As the question leaves my lips, I can see her head snap dangerously fast to face me. Her face holds shock, horror, and something else – something I can't identify. "No," she snaps. But the look on her face makes me think she is hiding something. Maybe little miss innocent isn't that innocent after all?

The rest of the day goes by quickly, and very slowly. It is one of those days where I really don't feel like training at all. But of course, that has never stopped me before, because in District 2 you don't have a choice. You don't want to train? Too bad, you are doing it anyway. Once, I tried to stay home because I had the most horrible head-ache, but that didn't make my father too happy – in fact, he was furious. He forced me to go anyway, and I had to walk around those next few weeks with a black eye.

It isn't unusual for parents to hit their children in District 2, because it is only through this cold discipline you can raise such monstrous killers. The only way discipline is taught back home is through violence. Beating, whipping, anything you could possible imagine as punishment for whatever we do wrong. And it is effective. Though we are brought up to be able to endure a lot of pain, we still don't want it to be inflicted on us, not when we can prevent it with doing something as simple as behaving, that is.

And anyway, I wouldn't have missed out on today's training for the world. Because today is the private sessions with the Gamemakers, and I will impress them by simply being the fucking great Clove Cavia. I will blow them away, and I know I will get one of the highest scores this year, just look at the pathetic weaklings I'm competing against!

Strained tension lays so thick in the air as all twenty-four of us sit waiting for our private sessions. Of course, the other Careers are murmuring quietly to each other, but that does nothing to falter the otherwise so oppressive silence embracing the large room. I don't want to make conversation. What I want is to finish my session, take a long nice shower, eat something and drag my hot boyfriend to bed for some rough quality time. The thought brings a smirk to my face, and I really hope -for my own sake- that it looks like a smirk of confidence and utter ruthlessness, and that no one can read what I'm really thinking.

It is soon Cato's turn and he throws me one last dangerous grin, before he strides away confidentially, his face screaming arrogant, and his stance screaming pride. I watch him go, knowing that Cato will -for sure- land the highest score. He has everything you could ever want in a Career tribute; strength, stamina, intelligence, and an unbelievable, violent urge to kill. And if it hadn't been for me, I know he could have won this with his one hand tied behind his back. But because of me, he is going to stupidly sacrifice everything he has ever worked for. He is so fucking stupid.

This is the exact reason, the perfect example to why we aren't supposed to love, why we aren't allowed. This attachment, which weakens you because you are too attached so you are holding on for your dear life. And that again tears every strong fiber you have got from your body, one after one.

And with that awful thought slithering through my mind like a poisonous snake, I enter my private session, knowing that I really need to impress them, to show them my very best. But as a Career, who doesn't expect me to shine?

…

Nine! A motherfucking nine! Nine as in fucking three points from the highest score. And that is not fucking good enough. I didn't put in all this fucking effort just to get a fucking stupid nine. _Fuck. This. Shit!_

Fury is welling in my chest, and shoots through me like a fierce, sharp lightning of blinding rage. My fists automatically balls into small fists of anger, and I know that if I am to face only a tiny glimpse of any more bad news, I'm really going to lose it.

Cato received a ten. Better than me, but I know he was rooting for a twelve, or at least an eleven. He seems rather annoyed, but I see no trace of anger forming on his blank face. "Fucking calm down," he barks at me, as he sees the growing fury etching itself into mine, which -of course- angers me even more. I glare at him with all the spite I can muster, and I see the alarm on his face as he sees the expression of utter danger on mine.

Digging my nails into the flesh of my arm, I try to control the angry, shallow pants which have replaced my normal, soundless breathing. "Clove," Cato growls, and I can feel the eyes of everyone in the room resting on me.

The faint distraction that is the pain caused by my sharp nails, does little to calm the tornado forming within. But I still felt like I managed good, until -of course- District 12 came with her fucking eleven. Both Cato and I jump to our feet simultaneously, in the same quick angry movement of shock. "What?" I exclaim in anger, my snarling exclamation sounding scarily like a mad and wild animal.

Cato isn't far behind with his snarling, "What the fuck?" he roars angrily. His muscles tense as he knots his hands into deadly fists. "What the hell? This has to be a mistake. A fucking mistake! It's District fucking 12! She has nothing on us! Nothing!" The fury etching itself onto his face creases his otherwise so handsome features into ones of plain madness.

Then we both whirl at each other, scarily synchronous. "She's my kill!" we snarl in unison, followed by anger met by anger. The glare of pure, burning fury we send each other is enough to set the building on fire. I hiss at him in anger-filled irritation, and he takes a couple threatening steps in my direction until he hovers above me, forcing me to crease my neck to look up at his big form.

"She's mine," Cato growls lowly, threateningly. He narrows his eyes as I glare up at him, shaking my head violently.

"I saw her first. She's mine!" I growl back at him.

Instead of letting his anger drag him any further into the world of crazy, the corners of his mouth curves upward in a mean and infuriating grimace of his usual taunting grin. He reaches out to tuck a strayed lock of hair behind my hair, exasperating me even more. "You're just mad she got a higher score than you," he drawls tauntingly. Beneath that calm exterior, a provocative pitch hides in his otherwise so tranquil tone, it is especially alarming after knowing the fact that he was just roaring in furious anger.

This fake, unsettling calmness makes me want to scream every profanity I know at him. Because it is this that makes my anger reach its limits. This infuriating calm voice, which is even worse than when he screams back at me. And he knows how absolutely maddening I find it, he knows that this is a button he should push with caution. But every trace of caution seems long lost as his finger seems to poke it harder, faster, until he knows I will soon snap.

"Get over yourself!" I snarl. "She got a higher score than you, too! And I'm gonna fucking kill her for making us look like idiots!" Because that is true. Scrawny little District 12 outshines the district which has been sparkled glitter over since it was founded. Stupid District 12 is taking all our glory, our honor. She is stripping us from all we have ever known, for what we have worked for all our lives, for what we live for, and for what we are willing to die for. She is slowly taking away our pride, and the punishment for making the strongest, fearless and most fearsome tributes in the Games look like such utter fools, is death. A painful, bloody death.

I will rip her apart. Limb by limb. Watch her blood pour in satisfying rivers, before painting the ground beneath in that vivid red color. The air will be scented by the metallic smell only blood can bring. I will rip her intestines out, one by one, and make her watch as every ounce of life drain out of her, second by agonized second. She will suffer so badly she will beg for me to just finish her off. She will cry, scream, plead. She will be _my _kill, and mine alone. I won't share her with anyone.

"That's exactly why she's mine to kill," he growls lowly, but still with that infuriating calmness smothering his voice. "She's mine, Clove, whether you like it or not."

I can't take this anymore. He is making me see red, and he is fucking doing it on purpose! "Go to hell," I snarl at him.

A teasing twist of his mouth appears on his handsome face, and his eyes hold such dark, angry humor. "Meet you there," he says in his normal growling voice. He watches as my face turns darker by every second the anger beats more and more forcefully into me, and in the end leaves me unable to control the violent surge willing to rip me apart from within.

"Shut up!" I scream angrily, twisting my body violently to find something to take this ridiculous fury out on. In the end I settle for the vase poised perfectly on the middle of the table, and I throw it with every ounce of strength I own, into the wall. The glass vase shatters satisfyingly, and bounces back at us like sharp bullets of glass, I don't even bother to cover my face as the vase angrily strikes back. And with that last exclamation of anger, I stride out of the room.

As I walk toward my own room, I can hear footsteps following behind me. Heavy footsteps made by long legs, which are taking long steps and are slowly catching up on me. When they have neared dangerously close, I can hear Cato's short, shallow breaths of anger. I open the door fast and slip inside, trying to slam the door close before he reaches me. No such luck. Cato grips the door so hard that I'm sure it will leave a mark. And even though I'm still trying to shut the door, I'm defenseless against his inhumane brute. He flings the door open, almost tearing the door of the hinges as he does so, and he strides in angrily.

"Get out!" I shout at him. I hate how he always decides that he is the one in charge, that he gets to barge in whenever he feels like it. It is so undeniably annoying how he seems to think he can do whatever he wants because he likes to think he is the boss of me.

Cato narrows his eyes as he peers down at me, a huff of angry breath hitting my forehead, telling me that _that _might not have been the smartest thing to say. "Don't you dare talk to me like that," he growls.

"I'll talk to you like whatever I want," I snarl. "Now, get the _fuck _out, or I'm gonna make you wish you went when I said so!"

He grins meanly down at me, the pure look of evil spreading further from his smile and over his handsome features. "You can't _make _me. You're too _tiny, _angel." That slick, arrogant aura practically blinds me with the fierce self-absorbed vibe it gives. He is so fucking annoying. He is _beyond _annoying, he is an infuriating prick of an asshole. "Both you and I know that's why you didn't get a ten, that's why you only got a nine. It's because you're small, Clove. No matter how deadly you may seem, or how lethal you are with your knives. You're small, and people think you'll die in the bloodbath because if someone steps on you, you're as good as dead."

Those words ignites the fury deep within. That is the worst fury, the one I only unleash when something is almost angering me to the point of insanity. And hearing Cato talk like this about my skills, and my _height_ makes the furious spark overwhelm my chest with the fierce, piercing feeling. "Fuck you, you asshole!" I scream at him. "I could kill you right now, you fucking piece of shit. I could stab you in the fucking heart before you even knew I was moving. I could so easily kill you and the fact that I'm smaller than you-"

Cato cuts off my furious screaming with a ferocious kiss, forcing his tongue into my mouth and slamming me so hard against the wall that the air forces itself out of my lunges, leaving me gasping. I smack him hard across the cheek, and his mouth is forced away from mine. Instead of becoming angry, his smirk widens to include his white teeth. And that smirk makes me want to slap him again. But as I try to, he grabs my hips, lifts me and slams me against the wall again, while also somehow managing to restrain my hand.

"Fuck you," I growl into the kiss as he pushes his tongue into my mouth again, though I know he can't possibly understand what I'm saying. But the way his body crushes me against the wall, the way his lips move so brutally against mine, and the way his tongue seems to explore every open room there is, makes all my resolve falter and I eventually kiss him back.

A snarl of a laugh escapes my throat as he leaves my face to nibble at my earlobe and continue on his way down, twisted to the unrecognizable by the lingering fury. A rather loud moan finds its way out of my mouth as he bites my sensitive neck, and I can feel his lips curl into a smirk against my skin.

Wrapping my legs around his hips, I ground myself into him roughly. Cato gives a grunt of pleasure and spins us both around before throwing me onto the bed. He soon follows and his large body presses mine deep into the soft mattress. I curl my fingers into his hair, tugging until he growls from the pain, and I laugh a rather sadistic giggle against his lips as he has reclaimed mine. Forcing his mouth even harder on mine, I trap him in my strong grip. He can't get loose, and I use all the strength I own to flip us around, grinning in triumph as I manage.

"If I'm so _tiny,_" I growl as I break away from the kiss. "How come I manage to flip us both around so easily, huh? If it is that someone could step on me and I would be dead, how come you can't hold me back? You don't believe it Cato. You have seen me beat up guys twice as big as me, you're only trying to anger me, aren't you?" He peers up at me from down below with a taunting spark in his eyes.

"It's working," he drawls in his growling voice, grinning madly. "You're so fucking furious now, I can practically taste it on your lips, I see it in your eyes, and I hear it in how you snarl at me. You're mad, no, you're furious, and it's _so fucking hot_."

I should have known. Cato has always liked angering me because of how violent I get. And violence is definitely a turn on for him, and that being the exact reason why he just angered me on purpose.

I sit up -straddling his torso- in a gesture of defiance, crossing my arms over my chest. I want to continue ravishing him, but so does he. And being how he just told me that I would die in the bloodbath, I'm not willing to give him what he wants. In fact, I'm going to make him work so hard for it that he will beg me on his knees to be with him.

"Clove?" Cato growls impatiently. Confusion obvious in his eyes as I glare down at him. He props himself up on his elbows, causing me to almost fall backward as I'm sitting on his torso. But I manage to balance myself, and I punch him hard in the chest.

Cato falls back and scowls up at me. "Bitch," he says, frowning as he rubs gingerly at the spot which just connected with my fist. "Seriously, what's fucking wrong now? Why did you just punch me?"

"You.." I poke him in the chest as I speak. "You are trying to get me fucking furious because you like it when I'm mad in bed. You're such an asshole!" Instead of looking fucking sorry like he should, he laughs, which makes my sinking anger flare again. "Stop. Fucking. Laughing," I tell him, poking his chest hard with every furious word, and he gives a low grunt.

"Stop poking me. It fucking hurts," he growls, suddenly serious after his laughter outburst. "And I might be an asshole, but that's what you love about me." He grins mischievously, and props himself up on his elbows again, yet again causing me to almost fall due to the abrupt change of terrain beneath me. He bends forward to whisper in my ear, "Right, angel?"

Even though I'm still angry at him, I can't help but shiver as his hot breath hits my neck. "Ugh, you're so.." I trail off angrily with a frown on my face, trying to find a mean enough word to describe him. But every word I can think of, will either make me sound childish, or plain stupid. As if Cato needs another reason to laugh at me.

"Handsome? Hot? Brilliant? Sexy? Awesome? Perfect? You know I could go on forever," he says, grinning that dangerous, but oh, so charming grin at me. I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes as he begins to list whatever high thoughts he has about himself.

"I was thinking more along the lines of _conceited, arrogant _and _disturbed,_" I say, running my finger over his broad chest, and finally looking up at him beneath my eyelashes.

"Disturbed? Me? Never." He grins that dangerous grin of his. That sadistic one, which makes chills run down your spine.

I bite my lip to keep a grin from forming. After all, I'm supposed to be mad at him, but somehow I can't manage to stay that way. Not when he is his annoying, but yet so charming self. I hate the effect he has on me. I fucking despise it.

"You're sick," I say grinning the slightest at him, and moving my face slowly closer to his. "Deranged." Even closer. "Sadistic." Now my face lingers right before his, my lips are so close to him that if I was to move forward only the slightest, they would brush against his. "Disturbed," I whisper huskily. With an amused grin, he flies forward to catch my lips with his, but I snap back just in time to hinder the attack.

"Clove," Cato growls in frustration as I smirk darkly at him. My anger is slowly departing, but I still want him to suck up his pride and admit he was wrong, that he only said it to anger me, because he -as well as I- knows that I won't die in the bloodbath. Hell, I will be the one to put the word 'blood' in there, by simply killing everyone in my way.

"Yes?" I taunt, my lips curling into a dangerous smile, and I figure that this time I'm going to anger him, instead of the other way around. Cato looks at me with such frustrated lust that I'm sure he is about to burst. And only to make it worse for him, I inch down toward his lap and ground myself teasingly into him. A groan is to be heard deep down in Cato's throat, it escapes and exposes his angry, lust-filled despair.

I can feel his need rubbing against me. "Fu-uck," Cato exclaims lowly, as I agonizingly slow bend the slightest forward and move my hips against his. Cato's face lingers right before mine, and I can see the obvious desperation on his features. Yet again, he bends forward to get a taste of my lips, and yet again, I sneak away from his attack -causing him to sit up abruptly, with me landing in his lap- only to be rewarded with a menacing growl. "Clove!"

"You know what to say," I whisper, once again dragging my finger over his chest, following my finger with my eyes as I do so, avoiding any kind of eye contact, which I know frustrates him. He growls at me again – a deep rumble of a warning. But then I have never been one to take his warnings seriously, which is often the cause of our violent arguments.

Still without looking at him, I run both my hands up his chest, stopping at his shoulders. Then I lean in to whisper in his ear, "Beg." A mean grin has formed on my face. "Beg for it, Cato, and maybe I'll let you have it."

The snarl of utter angry frustration makes my grin widen. I let my lips brush against his jaw as I draw back the slightest, causing him to yet again growl at me. "Clove, I swear if you don't stop this bullshit right now, I'm gonna fucking take what I want, no matter how much you fucking struggle against me."

"That's not what you want, though," I tell him, unable to keep the growing smirk off my face. "You want me to ravish you back," I whisper and move down to his throat. A smile reaches my lips as I feel him shudder the slightest when I nibble at that spot he loves.

In a swift motion, he has grabbed my head and cups my cheeks fiercely between his palms. I look at him, raising my eyebrows the slightest in a mocking gesture. Despite the obvious need in his voice, his eyes aren't desperate and dominating like I expect them to be. No, his clear blue eyes softens when they find mine, and not a trace of anger or annoyance is to be found. Only a soft calmness. "Both you and I know it wasn't true, angel. You will live through the bloodbath. Fuck, you might even be the only one to get out of there seemingly unharmed."

"Then stop saying shit like that just to get me wound up. It's not funny." I scowl at him.

Cato grins down at me, easing his grip on my face the slightest. "No, it's not _funny. _It's _hot._" _Here we go again... _"And the point was to get you so angry you would take your anger out on me in that sexy way you do when we get all hot and sweaty." He grins sweetly down at me, sparking that glimmer of irritation still lingering. "Not so angry that you would deprive me from my needs!" He releases my head, and rests his hands on my hips, slowly inching toward my ass. "Angry Clove equals even better sex," he explains, wiggling his eyebrows, something which makes him look really stupid.

"Angry Clove equals everyone near getting killed, and right now, _you're _the nearest," I growl.

"Is that a threat?" he asks teasingly, and raises his eyebrows with an infuriating grin taking hold of his mouth. I narrow my eyes at him, and they narrow even more as he reaches down to squeeze my butt, and at the same time grounding me into him. And despite the fact that he is annoying me, it feels good. It feels so right to be in his arms, not that I would ever admit it to him. He doesn't need another reason to be cocky.

I decide to play his game, and lean down to whisper in his ear, "No. It's a promise," I say sweetly, a smirk taking hold of my face. Cato's hands are slowly making their way under the flimsy material of my top, stroking my torso lightly with his finger as he goes for my breasts. But I don't let him go any longer than my bellybutton, before grabbing his hands and shoving them into his own chest. "Nuh-uh," I tell him, smirking sweetly again. "You forgot something," I whisper teasingly, looking up at him with a spark of mischief in my eyes.

He growls my name, causing me to almost smile of the great frustration I'm causing him. It feels so unbelievably good to know that I'm the only one who can make him this frustrated, this _needy_. But Clove Cavia doesn't _smile. _She smirks when she is in a teasing mood, yes. But she does not do something as simple and weak as _smiling _to convey a sense of _happiness. _I'm a Career, and everybody knows that happiness seldom lays in a Career's fate. Simply because no one with the pride of a murderer can indulge themselves the weakness of pure felicity.

Cato looks down at me where I'm sitting painfully close to him in his lap. I'm still grinding the slightest into him, only enough for him to groan with every slow motion, and I continue run my hands lightly over his chest, knowing it will frustrate him beyond the imaginable. His face is a collection of different emotions crossing his face in quick flashes – annoyance, anger, lust, frustration. He is too lascivious for his own good – his need for brutal sex is insatiable.

Suddenly, determination seems to have punched him in the face, as he bends forward. Slowly, gently – nothing like the attacks he has tried earlier. He brings one finger to tilt my chin up, the gentleness behind his touch confusing me greatly. "You're the most stubborn little girl I've ever met." He looks down at me, his face only inches away, and smothered by a serious expression that doesn't quite belong on his face. Bending even more forward, he creases his neck to whisper in my ear, "But you know I never beg." His voice is low, husky. It is that growl which makes me want him so much, and he knows exactly how much it gets the lust in me burning.

But no matter how sexy his voice is, or how much it makes me want him, he still annoys me. And I hate how he is managing to turn this around to his usual 'let me torment Clove until she snaps of being teased by my remarkably sexy self'. He is not the one who gets to be in charge. _I _am the one in charge now, and I'm not giving away that position just yet. "Then, let's compromise on something," I tell him, letting a faint smirk brush my lips through the irritation brought by his frustrating arrogance.

"What are you proposing?"

"I get to kill Fire Girl, and you get to do _whatever-_" I whisper the word in a low, suggestive tone. Making it no doubt what I actually am giving him."-you want to me tonight." I smirk up at him, and he seems to weigh the options in his head, before a slight scowl crosses his face.

"Where does the _compromise _part come in?" he asks, and it is my turn to scowl up at him. I'm practically allowing him to control me, almost inviting him to have me exactly the way _he _pleases, and yet he dares ask about where the compromise is? I open my mouth to spit something angrily at him, he smirks as he sees the look on my face and cuts me off, "I've got a compromise for you," he says. "Whoever sees Fire Girl first gets to kill her, and I get to have my way with you either way."

"That's not even a compromise," I protest.

"Whatever, angel. You know you want to," he growls, and with that, traps my head in his big hand and forces his mouth down on mine with bruising force. As I gasp for air, he forces his tongue into my mouth, exploring the known territory there. Even though he is an arrogant little fuck, I still can't help but melt into him as his lips moves in that familiar, violent way against mine.

He goes for my top, but I beat him to it and I'm already tugging it over my head. He gives a satisfied grunt as I fling it onto the floor, and he immediately reaches behind me to get off that one last clothing on my upper body. He stops for a second and looks down at me with a hazy look of admiration in his lust-filled gaze. "Perfect," he mumbles, and grabs both my external parts roughly in his big hands, before attacking my lips hungrily.

The next article of clothing to be unattached our bodies is Cato's t-shirt, and I run my fingers down his familiar abs, feeling the rock-hard, carved surface brought by years of manic training. Cato gasps as I bend down to kiss his neck, swirling my tongue over the most sensitive spot. Biting hard, I watch crimson ooze satisfyingly out of the teeth-shaped wound, causing Cato to groan in pain-filled pleasure.

Before I even react, he has flipped us over, and is crushing his great body into mine. "You like to make me bleed, don't you, angel?" he whispers huskily in my ear, and I smirk up at him as an answer. And of course -as always- he gets his revenge by nibbling on my lip, causing a couple drops of blood trickle down my chin.

Eventually, all of our clothes come off, and we are both excited and ready when Cato suddenly goes all panicky on me. He is still on top, and I watch as his expression turns from one of lust, to slight panic. "Clove," Cato growls, slowly. "Are we using protection?" What..? Why the fuck is he concerned about that _now_?

I frown in confusion – _of course_, his panic doesn't make any sense, what so ever. Not now, when we have had our way almost every night these last couple of days. "Um.. I guess we aren't," I tell him, as my gaze slides down his body to see if he is wearing some. _Nope.. _And as I utter those words, I receive a frustrated glare, one who tells me he is quite angry.

"Why the fuck not?" Every word is pronounced slowly, and through his teeth, spitting the words at me in spite. "What happened last time we didn't use it, huh? You got fucking _pregnant, _Clove. And I'm gonna make sure that'll never happen again. But that's not easy when you fucking never tell me stuff like this!"

"Well, _excuse me _for not thinking that I might be reaped with my boyfriend and that I should bring my birth-control pills so he doesn't get me pregnant before we're sent off to die!" I glower at him. "It doesn't fucking matter, Cato." And I know he will probably hit me if I tell him the reason why it doesn't matter. Truth is, that without Cato, I just can't live, and I won't get out of that Arena alive. So if he gets me pregnant, it won't matter.

He grumbles something incomprehensible in return, and even though I don't catch what he is saying, I know it is something expressing his frustrated anger. "It matters, okay? I'm not gonna put either of us through that shit again. We aren't gonna have any children, Clove. _Ever_. And when we get out of that Arena, I don't want you to be met by an unpleasant surprise, and then go all 'I want to keep it' on me again. I didn't fucking understand it back then, and I don't now either. You're the most vicious little creature I've ever met, and it makes no sense what so ever that you would want to keep the mistake. 'Cause you kill just for fun, and I can't wrap my brain around how you couldn't just make it go away. And since you would probably not want to kill it if I knock you up again, I'm gonna make sure it never happens."

The first thing that hits me during his long speech, is that he has really convinced himself that we will both get out alive. The second thing, is that he still has some pent up rage toward me, being that I was going to keep 'the mistake'. I always knew he wanted me to get an abortion, especially judging by his reaction when I told him I couldn't do it. It shocked us both, the fact that I couldn't have the abortion. As said by Cato, I kill for fun – I _enjoy _it. Then why didn't I kill the thing in my stomach?

The fact that he calls the thing -our _baby- _a mistake, loosens a feeling tied tight in my chest. One which I can't quite define, but squeezes my heart in an uncomfortable way. I look away, suddenly feeling like I can't meet his gaze anymore. I'm ashamed of myself for allowing my weak self to feel this, to get attached to a barely living _thing. _I'm ashamed I can't just shrug it off, that I'm just too damn _weak._

Attachment is a dangerous thing, and it leaves you weak. Incapable of being the person you need to be to survive the obstacle called life. Attachment is the core of everything evil; it makes you needy. You need the person you find yourself attached too, and with that need comes the feeling of not being able to live without them. With that feeling comes a crazy madness, which tells you that it is better to die than to live without the person you need.

"Then why did you _stay,_ Cato?" I ask him as I finally muster the courage to look back up at him where he is still on top of me, holding himself up by his arms placed on each side of my head. "Why did you stay with me when I told you I needed to keep it? It doesn't make any sense either. Not if you think it was such a big mistake like you obviously do."

"I didn't stay for the thing, Clove. I stayed for you. Because I thought you would eventually come around and figure out that the best for you was to get rid of it. But you never did. It was ruining your life, Clove. Everything you had worked for. You nearly got kicked out of the Training Center! If you lost your spot you wouldn't have had any purpose in life. You wouldn't have been anything."

The feeling tightening in my chest, threatens to choke me. I feel like I'm slowly suffocating, that there is something stuck in my throat, hindering me to breathe. I need it to go away, and that is the reason I grab his face between my palms, and guide his face down to mine. "I know it was for the best that my father killed it," I tell him, honestly. But my voice sounds strangled and weird. "I mean, I'm just a monster, right? I'm just a monster, and not a girl allowed to have children. Because I wasn't born to reproduce like most girls are, I was born to do just the opposite. Not to bring children into the world, but rather to make them leave it."

It is a bittersweet realization. I'm a monster, but yet a tiny human part of me is a girl. Just a girl who feels, who needs. That is the part which makes me weak. The part which no matter hard I try, still won't be defeated by the bigger monstrous side.

The look in Cato's eyes is one I don't know. It is unfamiliar almost, a weird mix of what he usually conceals from me. Instead of letting him say anything, I guide his lips onto mine. Letting my head be filled by his touch, his warmth, his lips, his body, his eyes, instead of the whirling thoughts which only bring confusion.

Both Cato and I know I'm right. Because we are born to slaughter, and to bring honor to our district. We are born to die – just look at where we are. It probably would be for the best anyway. One dies, one lives. Because it doesn't matter how convinced Cato is he will find a way out for us both, he is just being his stupid self. It doesn't matter. We are doomed, dead. Because nothing is more important than bringing glory to our district, right?


	13. When Hatred Charms

**Author's note: **Okay, so I'm starting to get rather concerned about the rating of this story, as I think my sex scenes are becoming a little too descriptive for it to be rated teen, am I right? I'm asking you guys, as I have no idea myself. I was never good at rating stuff. So, should I change the rating to mature?

**Warning: **A bit stronger sexual content than I have written earlier.

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><p>13.<p>

When Hatred Charms

The dumb presumption;

When hatred charms

As mindless as a child

Transforms into something wild

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><p>"<em>I know the sickening thoughts that slither around your head. I know the gluttonous guilt that buried me in your bed. Manipulate me, if you can, go on and fool me like your biggest fan. I know the arrogant pride that poisons the truth you hear. I know the bigoted tongue that tears apart all your fears. Pontificate, you faded star, go on and show them who you really are." I Know Where You Sleep, Emilie Autumn<em>

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><p>"I don't know how to fucking do this!" I say, frustrated beyond my mind. Enobaria just stares at me with a cold, and somewhat annoyed look plastered on her scary face.<p>

"All you need to do is act, Clove. Come _on_, it's not that hard," she says. "You know how to scare people, I've seen you do so before. You only need to pretend you want to kill them all. And knowing you, you probably won't have to pretend." She is right about that. I am not _pretending _I want to kill them, that feeling is very true. But wanting to kill them is not enough when I will be interviewed by Caesar, and have to act all charming and stuff like that. I'm not charming, nor am I flirtatious. I'm Clove, I'm lethal indeed, but I don't own even a sliver of charm. "And then you only have to flirt with them, make them like you. It's _not that hard._"

Uh, yeah, it is. Take it from a girl who has probably never seduced anyone. Except Cato that is, but he falls for everything I do, so it doesn't count. Enobaria and I have probably been sitting here for two hours, trying to make me into a lethal seductress, and so far; no such luck. "So, you just knew exactly what to say and what to do in your interview, then?"

She presses her lips together, and it looks like she is trying not to grin, or laugh for that matter. "Nope, I had no idea what I was doing. But I know I did much better than you." I narrow my eyes at her, and the weakly restrained grin blossoms on her face. "Okay, just think about how much you need to do this to win. Think about how you have to make them love you."

I press my lips together to keep a frustrated sigh, or a malicious snort to escape me. Back home we were supposed to get classes for this, so we knew how to act in public. But being that I'm only sixteen, I was just about to begin with those classes, and even those would probably do nothing to save me from the drastically uncharismatic creature I am.

I have never liked people, and always kind of kept to myself. In fact, I hate socializing. What is the point? It only increases my lust to kill their dumb selves. "How am I supposed to do that?" I almost whine. This is too damn frustrating.

"Smirk sweetly, wink to the camera. You don't have to go so far that you blow them kisses, but at least try to attract them. Charm Caesar, wave flirtatiously to the crowd. Pretend you like them, that you love them, and that you love it here. And get rid of that angry scowl, it'll do you no good. And even though you don't have a flirtatious bone in your body, you need to act like it."

Snorting at her, I'm unable to keep it inside this time. "I'm not a good actress."

I can see that Enobaria is slowly getting frustrated with me, as her usual scowl grows on her face. "Well, you'll just have to be," she snaps. "Wait here, I'll be back in two minutes," she says and walks out the door, leaving me alone in the large television room.

The urge to punch something grows in my chest, and I make do with throwing the pillow resting beside me on the couch, through the room. It is satisfying as I hear it smash another vase in the process, but it still does not satisfy my need to really destroy. Who am I kidding? I can't do this, I never could. Clove Cavia is lethal, and deadly and your worst nightmare. But she is nothing without sponsors, and she does not know how to get them because she simply is not endearing enough.

Eventually, Enobaria reappears, with Cato by her side, almost being dragged by her into the room. He doesn't struggle any more against her strong grip as he sees me sitting there on the sofa, ever so alone. He throws me his dangerous smirk, and I have the urge to roll my eyes, even though I have no idea why Enobaria has brought him here.

"Sit down," she says to him, and gestures to the seat right beside mine. He doesn't think twice about it, and flings his great body down on the couch. A taunting expression takes place of his face, and I refuse to look at him. We have been staying together for.. Has it been five days? And we are getting on each other's nerves. Or more; _he _is getting on my nerves. We need each other in small doses, but too much is poisonous.

Enobaria stands before us, looking down at me with that lingering scowl on her face. The fact that she is standing, and we are sitting, makes her look more scary than before, as we have to look up at her scowling form. "I found a way that might help you find your more seductive and enchanting self." I give a frustrated breath of air as I realize Cato's purpose. "He is going to help you," she tells me, and I think Cato is finally kind of catching her drift.

"Help with what?" he asks, slowly.

"The only thing Clove does is scowl when I ask her the questions Caesar is most likely to ask, and she needs to be a little more interesting than a mute, scowling girl. It won't get her any sponsors."

"But.. Clove always scowls, I don't think she knows how to do anything else." I can hear the smirk in his voice as he says so, and it irks me so badly. He knows he has this effect on me, and I turn to glare at him. "See?" He gestures toward me. "Scowling is the only thing she knows." He smirks at me, causing my glare to burn brighter.

"I wouldn't if you stopped giving me a reason to scowl!" I tell him snappily.

Enobaria shakes her head. "Calm down, kiddos," she says. "And no, she doesn't," she tells Cato. "Both you and I know that.. I don't know what you do, but you are the only one I have seen her do anything but scowl at. So you need to do that thing that makes her not scowl." She shoves the cards she read the questions from earlier, into his hand. "Read these and act like you're Caesar, and Clove, try to be a little more alluring, will ya?"

The first thing that comes to my mind when she hands him the cards, is that Cato almost can't read. And the second thing, is that it still seems impossible to act like I think I'm the most attractive bitch in Panem, I mean, that is Glimmer's job. "Um, okay.." Cato mumbles, scowling the slightest at the cards, like if he scowls badly enough, the cards will read themselves.

Eventually, he seems to have read and understood the first question, and asks me, "How do you like the Capitol so far?" He looks down at my face, a frown taking hold of his forehead as he reads my expression.

"The Capitol so far has been such a _joy. _Annoying people everywhere, who screams like they have a fucking bunch of mutts in their heels, _all the fucking time. _And who doesn't see what's right in front of them. Yeah, the Capitol has been such a _wonderful_ place, I just can't bear to have to leave." And I don't even bother to try and cover the sarcasm which is practically dripping off of my voice.

"Whoa there, angel. Bitter much?" says Cato, and I cross my arms over my chest defiantly.

"Really, Clove? You need to stop answering like a sarcastic ice queen, because, I repeat, it will _not _give you any sponsors," Enobaria chimes in with a sigh.

Cato looks down at my scowling face. "Maybe that wasn't the best question to start with," he says. "Come on, angel. You can do so much better, I know you can." He lowers his face for it to be right before mine, and lays both his hands on each side of my face, pressing his palms into my cheeks, and his fingers tangling in my hair. "Just act like when you were teasing me last night, minus the kissing and touching part. But you can be seductive when you want, angel. You just need to want it enough."

I shake my head. "I'm not good at this stuff, Cato."

"You are, angel," he says, and lowers his voice to a whisper so Enobaria won't hear. "You remember how hard I was last night? It was all because of you. You were teasing me, Clove. You were smirking, looking up at me beneath your eyelashes in that sexy way only you can, you were biting your lip, and you came with those mean teasing remarks. That is how you flirt, and it gets me so hot. You only need to tone it down a little for Panem to see, but you know how, Clove. It lays in your blood, remember your mother's interview? You got her charm, the only difference is that she showed it to all of Panem, and you only allow me to see it. But no matter how much I like that I'm the only one who gets to see that side of you, you still need to show it to the Capitol, angel. You need to do this."

Frustration flows through my veins like a surging rush, and I almost jump up and down in my seat in endless despair. Cato notices, and lowers his mouth to be right before mine. "Imagine this," he says in that husky, and sexy voice of his. He moves his head to whisper in my ear, "I'm teasing you in that way you hate. You're naked, and I'm on top of you and running my hands over your body, but I'm not touching you were you want to be touched. You want revenge. You always do. And when I kiss your neck, you find a way to flip us around, and then you pin me beneath you. Imagine that smirk you wear on your face when I growl at you. The way you look so mischievously down at me. The way you grin when you bend down to tease me by brushing your lips against mine... and other places."

As he begins talking about me being naked, and him caressing me, I blush a furious red. Even though I try not to, I can't help it when he talks like that and someone is in the room. I even blush when he talks like that when it is only us. But it helps, in a way to get an idea of what I should act like. I only have to tone it down a bit, or rather a lot.

"Okay," I breathe, as he draws back the slightest. "I'll pretend I'm talking to you when I'm on stage, only less insulting." I wouldn't want to insult them, not as Cato and I insult each other daily. That would probably end really badly.

"Try," he says, and winks at me.

"Like this?" I whisper, and bring my face up to his and brush my lips against his stubbly chin, before climbing upward to catch his lower lip between my teeth. "Am I flirtatious enough for you now?" I look up at him beneath my eyelashes, exactly in that way he told me he likes.

"Yeah, but if you do that to Caesar, I'm gonna kill him," he says, and reaches down to press his lips full force on mine, causing Enobaria to cough. I jerk away from him, being too caught up in him to remember that Enobaria is still here. And the fact that she just witnessed _that, _makes red spread over my cheeks.

"Okay, you lovebirds. I get it. You're in love, and probably horny as fuck, but I do not appreciate it when you two are trying to get it on in front of me." As she says so, the red flames even further onto my face, and I want to bury my face in Cato's shoulder to hide the blush. Cato smirks down at me, obviously noticing. He loves making me blush, as it isn't often he manages because I do have control most of the time. But this situation is just too embarrassing. "Continue with the questions," she says.

Cato grabs a hold of the cards, once again struggling with reading the question, but he eventually manages. "Why are you the one who's going to win?" He scoots even closer to me, and lays his arm on the sofa behind me, causing me to almost sit in his arms. "Seduce me, angel," he says under his breath, smirking.

I smirk as he asks the question. This is actually something I won't have a problem answering. I focus my eyes on his handsome face, and remind myself that even though he is practically pressing his body into mine, he is still being Caesar, and I can't kiss, or touch Caesar in that way I would touch Cato. In fact, I would rather not touch Caesar at all.

"Because I'm better than them in _every_ way. Because I have exactly what it takes to become a victor, and I won't hesitate the slightest in slaughtering every single one of my competition." Of course, I'm lying through my teeth there. But I throw Cato a wink none the less, and smirk sweetly, almost feigning innocence. "I will win because it lays in my blood, both my mother and father are victors, and I'll do everything to walk in their footsteps. I was born a victor, and nobody can keep me from my victory." I end my small speech with a winning smirk, which I aim at Cato with just the right amount of lethality and that dash of flirtatiousness of our usual death threats. It makes me realize that I might not be so hopeless at this as I might have thought.

"Finally!" Enobaria cries, finally satisfied with my answer. "I thought you were a lost case, but that was actually pretty good. Now your only challenge is doing that without Cato's help."

"You've got it, angel." He smirks down at me. "No one will be able to resist you. I know I can't."

Enobaria snorts. "Cato, go, before you two get all lovey-dovey again. We appreciate your help, but you can go back and work on your own interview now." Cato pecks me fast on the lips, with a promise that we will be together later, and walks out of the room.

"I don't even want to know what he whispered to you to make you blush so badly, but it worked." As she mentions it, I start blushing again, and she chuckles the slightest at my reaction, before continuing, "And I think you'll have the citizens of Capitol practically eating from your palm afterward. That District 1 girl is gonna go with a plain sexy look, no brutality, no spark of violence. You'll blow her off the map. You can't win the Games with only being hot, trust me."

I know I should feel relief flooding me as I have finally gotten my angle for the interview, but the fact that this is the last night before the Games shadows that joy remarkably. This is the last night I will get to be with my love, wholly and truly. This is our last night together as Cato and Clove, the violent, feeling lovers. Because tomorrow we turn into Cato and Clove, the violent, emotionless killers.

Enobaria asks me a couple more questions, and I try my best to envision Cato before me. I obviously manage, as Enobaria seems satisfied with my answers. She soon decides that I won't need any practice in walking in heels, because I have the best balance she has seen since herself at my age. She learns me how I'm supposed to sit, and preaches about what is acceptable, and what definitely is _not. _She obviously feels like she has to add _no killing _in that not acceptable part. Like I'm dumb enough to try and kill someone on stage. We perfect the last bit of my interview, and when we are done, it is ready for dinner. Though dinner is awfully early today, as we have to begin with the prepping before the interviews.

I feel like I have wasted this day on just complete bullshit, even though I learned some useful stuff. But I would rather have spent this day locked up with Cato in one of our rooms, being united with him in every possible way. But as everything else I want at this moment, it is out of reach.

As I sit down at the dinner table beside Cato, I notice the strained silence between him and my father, who are the only ones who have arrived yet. My father looks much better than he did two days ago when I last saw him, but he is still bruised. The awkward silence is abruptly interrupted by Oceana who enters the room, squealing as always. I frown as I see the strangers which are following her; I have never seen them before.

Even though the people Oceana brought with her are from the Capitol, they look surprisingly normal. The woman, or rather girl as she doesn't look that much older than me, walking at her side, has red flaming hair and is wearing jeans, or at least I think it is jeans, I'm not really sure as I have never worn some myself, but I have heard girls talk about it back home. She is also wearing a simple black top with a leather vest over. It is funny how normal she seems next to Oceana who wears her sparkly yellow wig.

There are about five more unknown people there, following behind Oceana. All five are girls, and two of them look exactly alike, the only difference between them being that one of them has hair black as coal, and the other's hair is white. They are wearing identical dresses, the one with the black hair wears a white version, and the one with the white hair, wears a black one.

The other three look scarily normal too. Scarily, because no one in the Capitol is supposed to look normal. It just feels so _wrong_. The girl closest to me has dark blue hair and I'm stunned by how pretty she is. I'm not one to admit other girls' beauty, but her face is too perfect to not be recognized as stunning. The other girl isn't nearly as pretty, but I have seen a lot worse here in the Capitol, and none of these people standing before me now, seems to have had any of those gruesome alterations to their faces. The less pretty girl's hair is a dark purple, both of the colors so dark they almost look like black. And the last person has to be identified as a woman. She is remarkably older than the others, but still isn't old. I think she is about Enobaria's age, but yet she looks really young with blonde ringlets bouncing around her face.

"This is your new prep-teams, and stylists!" Oceana squeals, but she doesn't dare look me in the eye as her gaze glides over the table. "This is your stylist, Clove." She still doesn't meet my gaze, and I have to hold back a smirk, which oddly finds it way onto my face anyway. She gestures to the girl with the red hair. "Araceli, this is Clove, Clove, that is Araceli." I nod at her, and she nods back. "And this is Cyrie, Cato, she'll be your stylist." Oceana points at the woman with the blonde hair, who smiles at Cato.

"Nice to meet you," Cyrie says, nodding, still with that smile on her face. It irks me.

"You too," Cato says with a wink, throwing in his charm, and making me want to kick him underneath the table. And that is exactly what I do, causing him to dig his fingers into my thigh, as his hand was already resting there. He smirks down at me in a slight second, before returning his attention to the introductions.

"This is Lilliana and Caliana," Oceana continues, oblivious to the fact that a war is almost being fought under the table. She makes an ungracious motion with her hand toward the two girls whom I swear have to be twins. "They are your prep-team, Clove." Then she gestures to the last two girls. "And Keona and Mila are yours, Cato."

I once again nod politely in a greeting, and the twins nod back with scarily similar smirks on their faces. Eventually, they all sit down, and join us at the table. As usual, I don't engage in any conversation, as I simply concentrate on eating. I try to make up for my binging two nights ago with eating something healthy, but yet something containing a lot of nutrition. Cato nods in approval as he eyes my meal, and I roll my eyes. Cato has always been good with food. He wouldn't have looked the way he does, or had his massive muscles if he had eaten like I tend to do sometimes.

I watch Mila, the pretty girl with the dark blue hair. She is a part of Cato's prep-team, and I do not like the idea of someone with her face being around him. Especially not when she will see him practically naked, if not wholly. Ridiculous jealousy spreads through me like a wind of shameful anger.

When we finish the dinner, Araceli and the twins lead me to the Remake Center, where bad memories lingers. I'm glad I got a girl this time, a seemingly young girl at that, and not an old perv. "As Oceana said, I'm Araceli, but just call me Ara," she says, and flings her red hair over her shoulder. Ara reaches out to touch my hair, and rubs it between her thumb and forefinger, narrowing her eyes in disapproval. Before she inspects the nails on my hands, and makes a snorting sound. "Lil, Cal, she needs a beauty bath, the whole deal."

The twins flutter around me, while one fills the tub in the middle of the room, the other grabs bottles, soap, and God-knows-what from the shelves. "Undress," Ara tells me, and I look hesitantly at the bright pink water. There is no way I'm getting into _that._ She obviously notices my reluctance as she says, "I know the water looks rather unpleasant, but I promise you, it'll do you good. It won't dye your skin or anything, I promise." She chuckles lightly at the thought, and goes to fiddle with something across the room.

No one is watching me as I undress, to my great relief. They are all too busy with running around and preparing whatever. I lower myself into the tub of pink water, wrinkling my nose at the overly sweet smell. The twins soon begin to take care of my nails, and wash my hair.

It really is refreshing to not have such an annoying prep-team, Caliana and Lilliana does not squeal or scream. In fact, they rarely say anything, as they are very focused on what they are doing. But if they are to say something, it is a low mumble, a comment on something they are doing, or a soft sisterly remark.

But even though their voices aren't that annoying, they still come to irritate me with their obvious sisterhood. Even though it is far from what me and my brother had, it still makes me miss him. I try to push the void feeling from my chest, but it doesn't quite want to go away.

Leon was the only person who ever showed me something resembling _love. _He cared for me when my father didn't. Leon was the one who fed me, made sure I bathed, and got into bed since I was five, when my father decided he would rather use all his money on booze instead of a nanny.

Leon used his whole childhood to care for his sister, and yet he never complained. Even though she turned out an evil, messed up girl. He taught me how to read, how to swim, how to survive in general. But the biggest difference between Leon and I wasn't the fact that he was the pure example of goodness, and I was the perfect picture of evil. No, it was the fact that my father loved Leon.

He never got hit by my father, he never got insults flung after him, no matter how lazy he was, he never had to endure that abuse my father put me through, simply because Leon looked like my mother. And also because he didn't kill her, like I did, that is. But no matter how much he cared for me, I never could forgive him for being loved by our father, when I so clearly wasn't.

And the most gruesome thing about his death had to be that I was the one who found him. It was when I came home from training one day when I was thirteen, my father had driven directly to the nearest bar afterward. I had found him pinned to the door of our house, a sword through his heart keeping him pinned up, with his feet dangling lifelessly beneath him like the corpse he was.

But the thing which etched itself into my mind -which I can't get rid off no matter how hard I try- was the tortured expression on his cold and pale face. He was my brother. No one gets to do that to my brother. That was when the blood-thirst first came out from its dark like a serious emotion. That was the first time I didn't have any control over the overwhelming lust to kill.

I close my eyes to keep the usually so suppressed memory from invading my head, and force myself to think of something else. I manage as Caliana -or at least I think the one with the black hair is Caliana- begins to wax my legs, ripping the hot wax-strip mercilessly off of my skin, and I'm convinced she takes half of my skin too. "This will keep hair from your legs for months," she comments, lowly.

After they have plucked every misplaced hair from my body, they rub some sort of lotion on my skin, leaving it soft and glowing. _Cato will like that.. _Eventually, they start with my make-up, and do my hair, as I start getting restless. When they are finished, I'm practically bouncing up at down in my seat in both nervousness and impatience.

Ara helps me into the midnight blue dress, the soft fabric caressing my skin ever so gently. Then she forces me to step into a pair of silver, sky-high and strapped stilettos. They finally give me clearance to turn around and admire their work -as Ara so proudly puts it- in the mirror,

Shock flows through me like a heavy flood when I see the result of the torture I endured these last couple of hours. I look _nothing _like myself, but like a flawless and sophisticated murderer. Whatever they did with my face, it made me look dangerous. My green eyes are strikingly bright, and standing out with that flashing green color, more so than ever. Yet, I can't say I look beautiful. No, Clove Cavia never looks beautiful. She looks fierce, exactly like she is supposed to do, exactly like she is born to do.

The dress is a beautiful deep blue, and it sits tight around my upper body, before flowing down from my waist and downward to my mid-thigh. The dress swings remarkably in on my waist, making the thinness of it really prominent. And the neckline shows off just the right amount of cleavage. Just enough to leave something to the imagination of the hungry Capitol boys. I shudder at the unpleasant thought, and remember yet again the feeling of my deceased stylist's hands on my bare skin.

My hair is pinned on top of my head in some sort of artfully messy bun, a couple of strands hanging strategically around my face. And the shoes make me so much taller than I really am. It feels odd to hover so far above ground, when I usually am so close to it.

"Soo," Ara drawls in her soft voice, which surprisingly lacks that heavy Capitol-accent. "Do you like it?" She looks at me with cocked eyebrows, and crosses her arms over her chest, almost daring me to say that I don't.

"Yeah," I tell her under my breath, and she seems satisfied with my answer as a smirk grows on her face.

"I think those heels are something to get used to, so you better walk around in them and try them out for a while. It will be kinda embarrassing if you trip on stage."

After I have gotten used to the heels, I'm ushered out the door, being told that I have very little time before I should be on stage. Ara guides me through the corridors, where we meet up with Cato and Cyrie.

A grin tugs on the corner of Cato's lips as he sees me, and I raise my eyebrows in question at him. "You look like a girl, Clove," he says, and smirks down at me. Cyrie and Ara have already begun walking again, and tells us we need to come with them, because we obviously don't have much time. I scowl at him. So, I don't usually look like a girl, just now, when I have been prepped for hours? _Way to make me feel better, Cato._ Fucking asshole.

We fall rather far behind our stylists, as they have an almost manic pace. Are we really in that much of a hurry? Cato lowers his head to whisper in my ear, the teasing expression on his face gone, along with the smirk in his voice. "You look so beautiful, angel."

I look up at him with a frown on my face. What is up with these complements? It is so unlike him to tell me I look beautiful. Usually he would only throw a comment like that first one, and I would fire back a more spiteful one. I'm almost always the one who wins these competitions of insulting the other the most. Probably because I have more wit than him, and because when I have reached a certain limit he just gets mad and either fucks me, hits me, or growls and walks away.

"It's the truth," he tells me, and frowns when my frown deepens. I shake my head, and he is about to say something when Ara calls back that we have to hurry if we don't want to piss some really important people off, by arriving late. And I think Cato and I for sure can say that we already have pissed off enough people.

We make our way down to behind the stage, where we meet Enobaria and my father, both having been styled to the unrecognizable themselves. It is odd to see my father without some kind of alcohol stain, and in an actual suit. And it is even weirder to see Enobaria in a dress. The mentors will be photographed, too, and also interviewed. Not by Caesar, but by some random Capitol journalist who will write articles about us tributes in their petty magazines, and needs the mentor's input for it to seem more realistic.

All four of us seem uncomfortable with being dressed up like this, and an awkward silence ensues before Enobaria breaks it with giving us a last piece of advice, before disappearing with a small, "Good luck." My father follows suit behind her. Ara and Cyrie have also vanished, leaving Cato and me alone. Or not exactly _alone, _being that almost all of the other tributes are here, and also some of their mentors.

Glimmer stands beside Marvel in an extremely see-through dress, leaving nothing to the imagination as you can see almost _everything_ of her flawless body. I notice Cato also looking at her with a slight grin on his face. It sparks the irritation within, and I cross my arms over my chest. Who am I kidding? I'm not irritated, I'm..._hurt _by his longing gaze resting on her, and not on me. When Cato is _occupied, _the boy of District 4 makes his way over to us, and I pretend I don't notice him until he is practically standing before me. I still don't remember his name.

"You look nice," he says with a slick smirk. His golden hair is combed back and lays perfectly over his head. He is handsome enough, I presume. Sea-green eyes, and golden tan – the typical looks of District 4. But as he voices his complementing words, I can feel Cato coming to life beside me. He tears his gaze from Glimmer, and during that quick flicker from her to him, it grows dangerous.

I can feel him tense, and a strained silence approaches us for the slightest second before Cato growls, "Say that again, and I'll punch you." Cato steps closer to me, demonstratively. I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Cato – always the melodramatic.

The boy looks confused between us, before it seems like a light turns itself on behind those sea-green eyes. "Dude, I was just telling her she looked nice," he says, holding his arms up in surrender. "Uh, I didn't intend to offend you." The boy swallows heavily as Cato's expression grows darker with every word he speaks. I decide to help him out as he did actually tell me I looked nice, and also make sure Cato doesn't go completely maniac on him in public. That would be the last thing we need.

I step in between them, laying a hand on Cato's chest as he is about to move forward. "John, was it?" I ask the boy.

He frowns. "Jordan," he tells me, clearly -once again- offended I didn't remember his name.

"Well, _Jordan,_" I tell him. "I suggest you leave, Cato has a really bad temper, and he doesn't make empty threats." That gets him going; he scampers away like a terrified little rabbit, causing me to smirk. But my smirk doesn't last long as I see Cato's struggle to control his anger.

"Calm down," I snap at him, not removing my hand from his chest. "Relax, Cato. Stop being so damn jealous. The only thing he did was complement me, while you were fucking staring at Glimmer."

He looks down at me with a frown on his forehead, before a sudden grin finds it way onto his lips. "I think _you_ are the jealous one, angel." I shake my head angrily. Fuck him. With a quick glare, I turn to stare at him with all the fire I can muster, before turning away, ignoring his annoying ass. "Jealousy looks bad on you, angel," he tells me with a mean grin.

"Yeah, because I was the one about to bash someone's face in for giving you a compliment." I shake my head angrily, yet again. I don't need this shit now.

"Well, at least I know how to contain myself and just look, instead of falling all over the person coming on to you." Something tells me that he isn't talking about Jordan anymore. But more like a incident having happened two years ago, which he never has let me forget since.

"Really, Cato? Are you bringing up that again? I thought we were done with it, it happened two years ago for fuck's sake! Why can't you just _let it go_?"

"You're getting all pissy on me now, because I was just looking at a girl, but you were the one who cheated on me," he tells me, angry. And yet again, he is the bigger drama queen.

"We weren't together, you asshole, I had the right to kiss whomever I wanted."

"No, you were mine, Clove. You _are _mine. And you fucking went and kissed him, you whore." And what he fails to mention, is how he was sleeping around, still, even though he had claimed me as his. So I'm not the whore of us, far from.

The whore comment hits me like a burning slap in the face, and I think he realizes he went a little far himself, as his expression softens noticeably. But that trace of anger is still to be found on his face. "Fuck you," I say under my breath and turn from him, crossing my arms over my chest. He growls my name in a soft apology, but I'm not in the mood for that now. "Fuck off," I tell him, and I hear him sigh.

During a fight we had when I was fourteen, and him sixteen, we both ended up pretty furious with each other. And I being the stupid, brainless_, slut_ I am just had to get my rightful revenge.

_It is raining. Rain falls onto the window and leaves clear drops of water to stain the smooth surface. I'm in his apartment, screaming at him, only to receive an angry growl back. He is mad with me, furious. And I am too, with him. And in the end I just can't take it any longer, and I scream, "Fuck you!" and scurry out the door, hoping he won't follow me._

_As the door slams shut behind me, I hear him groan loudly, before a loud smash is to be heard. I hurry down the stairs to the door waiting down below, and run out in the rain. It doesn't matter that it completely soaks me. All I need is to get away from him, because we aren't any good for each other in the slightest bit. The only thing we do is fight. Either with words, or with our bodies. But those fights which infuriates us both the most is the fights where we use words, and not brute – it is about hurting the other the most._

_As I have been running for about ten minutes, I finally arrive the main core of District 2, where all the shops and businesses are. At my left there is a bar, and I decide that I might as well drink it all away. I mean, what the heck. Nobody would care anyway. _

_I make my way into the bar and sit down, even though I'm far too young to legally drink, but the bar owner doesn't care. As I'm about to order, a vaguely familiar form takes a seat beside me, and offers to buy me one. Colton Rye is the man's name. He is a peacekeeper of the more higher ranked kind. _

_The only thing I want, is revenge on Cato for being such a fucking asshole. And that is the only thing I'm thinking when I let Colton pour me drunk. And that is the only thing I'm thinking when I let Colton drag me outside. And that is the only thing I'm thinking when I let Colton kiss me._

_He is the second guy I have kissed. _Ever. _And I'm not sure if I like it, or not. Colton kisses much differently than Cato – much less brutal, much more gentle. It irks me somehow. I don't like slow, gentle kisses. No, they have to be violent, devouring ones for me to satisfied. They have to be _Cato's.

_Suddenly, Colton's lips get torn away from mine, and I know already before my eyes settle on him, that Cato is the one behind that violent action. His eyes are ones of such fury, and his voice even more so, as he growls at me, "You little whore." And of course that angers me. He has no fucking right to call _me _a whore. If someone is a whore here, it is him. Who was the one who caught _him _with another girl yesterday?_

_I'm about to scream back at him, but he grabs a hold of my wrists and slams my arms into the wall behind me, on each side of my head. The overwhelming anger in his eyes, makes me keep my mouth shut. I have seen him snap necks if he becomes angry enough, and I'm not planning on becoming his next victim. Because the truth is -no matter how much I hate to admit- that when I'm trapped in his arms like this, I'm just a little lamb. A little lamb, unable to get free from this monster's poisonous grasp._

_He suddenly flings me to the side, causing me to almost fall to the ground. When I regain my balance, he pushes me forward. "Walk," he growls venomously. And I do as he says, simply because disobeying him will fuel his anger remarkably._

_Eventually, he has pushed me into the alley behind the bar, and he pins me against the wall. With a quick motion, he has tugged off my jacket, and I hear the knives I have hidden in it, clatter to the ground. Then he tears off my sweater, completely ruining it. But what actually hurts when he rips it off my body, is my bra, because it digs into my skin mercilessly, almost drawing blood._

_Even though I'm struggling against him, I know I can't get out of his grip. He knows too, and I bet that is the reason behind the evil grin painting his face. The last clothing also come off in the same violent way as the others, and I end up completely naked._

_Cato undoes his zipper, and lifts me up so he can take me against the alley wall. It hurts. So badly. With each and every thrust, another bruise is forming. With each and every thrust, Cato gets deeper and deeper inside of me, tearing my insides. And with each and every thrust, he growls spiteful things at me._

"_Who owns you, angel?" he spits at me meanly. He grunts in effort as he once again slams me hard against the wall, my back suffering the beating. "Whose little girl are you?"_

_I press my lips together to keep a cry of pain to escape, because I know that it is what he wants. And I know he won't stop pounding into me with all the strength he owns, if I don't tell him what he wants to hear. "You!" I cry angrily, the pain he causes me transforms into fury. "You own me. I'm yours, Cato. I'm fucking yours!" My teeth are clenched tight together to keep the scream inside. If I show him the pain he is causing me, he will laugh. And I can't have him laugh at me._

"_Good little girl," he grunts, and grins evilly. "Now, will you ever disobey me again?" he says in a hushed voice, smirking cruelly down at me._

_I shake my head in pitiful defeat. "No," I tell him. A weak tone smothering my otherwise so cold and spiteful voice._

_It causes him to yet again smirk at me, and he bends down to kiss my forehead, before continuing to slam our bodies together until his release comes. Then he pulls out, and walks away, leaving me naked and shaking in the rain._

_It is raining. Rain falls onto my body, and leaves clear drops of water to stain my smooth skin. I'm freezing, I'm shaking, and I have learned my lesson: I'm his. And I won't have it any other way._

"Look at me," Cato hisses, and I turn my head to glare at him. "You know I didn't mean it, Clove." He is whispering now, concealing his voice from the other tributes standing around. "Just forget about it, will ya? If you do, I promise I won't bring up that you cheated on me again." I just continue to glare at him. "Look angel, I need you not to be angry with me now. You have to do your best in the interview, and I know that me fucking with you makes you angry, but now both you and I need you to just forgive me so you can do your very best."

I turn away from him, and ignore his weak attempt on an apology. Apologizing has never been Cato's strong side, and by the way he acts, he really should apologize daily. But apologizing shows signs of remorse, and we seldom have remorse. It is only when he insults me -and I can't bear being in the same room as him- he apologizes.

A sudden mechanical voice in a speaker, tells us to line up after districts, with the girl first. The Peacekeepers are following our every motion with narrowed, mean eyes. I get in line behind Marvel, and Cato again stands behind me. "Seduce me, angel," he whispers in my ear as we are told to go on stage. And that is exactly what I plan on doing, even though the anger is still seething beneath my skin. Both the anger and the hurt is boiling inside, and I push them aside, knowing that I need to do my very best to survive, and make sure Cato is the sole winner.

As we walk onto the stage, the applause explodes from the live audience, and I'm afraid I will go deaf. I try frantically not to stumble in these heels, and it is tempting to trip Marvel who walks in front of me. But I figure that would be the childish thing to do, and I can't afford to appear that way. We sit down in a half-circle, where Caesar Flickerman is placed in the middle of the stage and our seats forms a crescent-shaped formation behind him. Relief finds its way through my body as I find my seat and sit down, crossing my leg over the other, just like Enobaria taught me. Then I just make sure to withhold that cruel smirk on my face. I catch my competition's eyes, and psyche them out a little with my evil eye, before they get interviewed, only to get their voices shaking a bit more.

Caesar makes a little speech, before welcoming Glimmer to the interview chair. She acts like a bubbly, ditzy blonde, and when Caesar asks her questions, she easily dances around them, and answers as she pleases, all being done with an eyelash-batting and clueless, blonde impersonation. She plays the role good, and I notice that when he asks about her family, and especially about her boyfriend, she again answers everything else than he actually asks. But she manages to get through her bubbly chattering that she is single. Of course, she would go with that angle. A lot of horny Capitol men would sponsor her in a hope that she comes back, and they will have a shot on having their way with her. She will seem much more desirable if she acted like she doesn't have a kid, and a husband.

Marvel goes next, and he goes for the more funny and charming angle, with only a hint of maliciousness every now and then. He pulls it off surprisingly good – maybe the guy isn't such an useless loser after all, if he has any skills that is.

Then it is my turn, and I make my way to the center of the stage, using every ounce of grace I have gotten from years of hard and abusive training, and putting it into my elegant prance. Keeping the confident smirk on my face, I look at the audience, honoring them with my attention, before eventually reaching Caesar. I shake his hand and greet him, never letting the evil smug smile off my face, even for the slightest bit, and I sit down in the giant chair.

The white chair is a massive piece of furniture, and I don't think it can be actually called a chair, more like a throne. And that throne-like thing, makes my little self look even smaller. But I hope I make up for how tiny I look, with a dangerous, but yet flirtatious glare directed toward the audience.

"Well, I just have to say; you look absolutely beautiful. And walking in those heels! I was afraid you'd fall on your way over here!"

"Yeah, I don't really know what my stylist was thinking, putting me in these death traps-" That earns me a little laugh from the audience. "-but I think I managed alright." I aim a smirk at Caesar, adding a little arrogant spark to my appearance. And I imagine Cato briefly before me, causing my smirk to grow flirtatious, almost furtive as the picture of his handsome face crosses my vision.

Caesar nods with a smile. "Of course you did," he says. "Now tell us, what went through your head when your name was called at the Reaping? Were you excited?"

I shift in my chair a little, trying to conceal the fact that I'm about to lie. But even though I'm suffering some inner turmoil, my winning smirk doesn't falter the slightest bit. _Cato.. _"Of course I was. It's a great honor to compete in the Hunger Games, and I can't wait to bring my district the great glory it deserves." I give a mysterious, almost cheeky smile to the cameras zooming in on my face.

"Isn't she a confident one!" Caesar exclaims and the audience roars in agreement. "We like that! And judging by your score, you have a good reason to be confident, too. A nine, that is quite impressive. Especially for someone as small as you." He is not saying that last part to be mean, I can tell. But rather stating it as an obvious fact, yet I can't help but be the slightest annoyed.

"Thank you," I tell him smoothly, flashing a devious smile. "And I might be small, but there is a lot more to me than that. Let's just say that you don't want to underestimate me." While saying so, I turn my head the slightest to look at the tributes sitting there. "It will end terribly." I smirk as I see some of them shrink uncomfortably into their seats as my heavy glare lingers on them. Cato is grinning widely and cruelly too, as my gaze graces his eager face.

"We wouldn't do that, of course not," he says, and nods earnestly. "Now tell us, what did you do to earn such a score?"

My cheeks are hurting from smiling so viciously, but that does nothing to stop my smirk from widening on my face as he asks me that question. Knives – my favorite topic. "I've always been a natural with knives," I say, cocking my head the slightest to imply my sadistic tendencies with an evil grin. "I never miss."

"Never?"

"Never," I say, and Caesar nods, impressed. The audience are hanging on to every word I say, drinking in every sentence like it is the most interesting thing ever. Pleasing them is much easier than I thought – a little confidence here, a dash of flirtatiousness there, and that sadistic undertone which adds the compelling and secretive feeling to the whole act.

"You know what? I can't help but think of your mother as you sit before me, Clove." He smiles kindly, and I can feel an annoying feeling of hurt tug at my heart. "It seems like yesterday when she sat in her interview and told me she also had a talent with knives," Caesar exclaims. "You look just like her too." And I'm not quite sure how to respond to this, as he just mentioned my dead mother, whom _I _killed – not exactly the essential interview topic.

"Yeah, I never met her," I start slowly, being careful not to mention that she died giving birth to me, but I'm sure all the people here already knows. "But I guess she is the one I inherited my skills from." I smirk meanly, but I can feel the scary murderer vibe have faltered a bit.

"I'm sure it is," Caesar says, choosing not to address the first thing I said, and rather focuses on the second. "And your beauty too," he continues, surprising me. "Your mother was a beautiful woman."

I nod slowly, rather unsure of what to say. "Thank you," I tell him finally, flashing a small and far less sadistic smile.

"Now, Clove," Caesar continues. "You're the daughter of two victors, your mother was Mallory Cavia, and your father is Adron Cavia – do you feel pressured to walk in your parents footsteps? Do you think the expectations are higher for you?"

Thinking of an appropriate answer, I shake my head slowly. "I know the pressure is there," I start. "But I don't feel it, 'cause I _know _I'll win." I let the confident smirk grow wide on my face, doing nothing to hide the dangerous glint in my eyes. "I think people expect me to be like my parents. I mean, they did great – they _won. _And of course the expectations are high, but I never disappoint." The smirk is still on my face, and I direct it toward the audience as they roar load enough to shatter my eardrums. I grit my teeth the slightest against the loud noise, hoping I won't lose my hearing after this as I will be dependent on it in the Games.

"Well, Clove, is there anything you would like to say to the other tributes?"

"Just that they should watch their backs, you're never safe, 'cause if I have pointed you out as my target, there is nothing, _nothing_, that will keep me from getting you. So you better run as fast as you can, but no matter how fast; I'm still faster." The sadistic and utterly dangerous smirk I give, makes the lesser part of my competition (which really is everyone except Cato) sink back into their seats, as if to prevent me as pointing them out as my target.

Glaring especially spitefully at Katniss, I watch as she doesn't want to shrink back. It annoys me greatly, and that is exactly why she will be my target. Even though she refuses to flinch, it still doesn't stop the District 12 boy, and it almost seems as she rolls her eyes, as she sees her partners reaction.

Caesar is finishing up my interview, and as the bong sounds, we both rise from our chairs. "Clove Cavia, everyone!" he says loudly, and excited roars, and screams are to be heard from the audience. I shake Caesar's hand, before flashing one last mischievous, dangerous and cheeky smile, and walking back to my spot.

The Capitol is eating out of my palm.


	14. When Beauty Is Found

**Author's note: **The rating is officially changed to mature.

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><p>14.<p>

When Beauty Is Found

The captivating second;

When beauty is found

Love – the evil game

Twisted all the same

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><p>"<em>Take away the pain inside my soul. And I'm afraid, so all alone. Take away the pain that's burning in my soul. 'Cause I'm afraid that I'll be all alone. So just hold me, hold me, hold me. Hold on to my heart, to my heart, to me. Hold on to my heart, to my heart, to me. And oh, no, don't let me go, 'cause all I am you hold in your hands. And hold me, and I'll make it through the night, and I'll be alright. Hold on, hold on to my heart." Hold On To My Heart, Wasp<em>

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><p>When the interviews are finished, I'm so filled with anger that I almost stride off stage. I haven't yet calmed down from the hurting anger Cato filled me with before the interview, and the fact that the fucking District 12 boy stole the whole show, does nothing to falter my fury.<p>

He said he _loved _her. The cowardly boy from District 12 said he _loved _his district partner, and they got all the applause – they will get all the sponsors. And what angers me the most is that it is just a game. It is just a fucking game to them, one in which the boy knows every rule, but the girl has no clue how to play. It is fake, and it angers me so much because _I _am the one who should be in the spotlight. _I _am the one who is going into the Games with the one person _I _love, not that bitch on fire.

I know better than to voice my anger publicly, as there are still cameras around, and I have promised to behave myself. Which is why I stride as fast as I can into the nearest elevator, not waiting for Cato, or Enobaria, not for anyone. Cato manages to catch the same elevator as me, and even though anger is radiating from him, he still gazes down at me worriedly. The second we stop in Floor 2, I rage out, and I can feel Cato following behind. "Clove," he growls as soon as the elevator door slams shut.

Even though there is a certain desperation in his growl, I still don't slow my pace, in fact, I fasten it. "Clove," he growls yet again, and grabs me by the arms as he catches up with me, whirling me around to face him. His eyes are angry, but there is still a certain softness there, smothering the usual coldness.

I jerk away from him. "Don't touch me," I hiss at him, before turning to walk again. But it obviously does not matter to him that I don't want him to touch me, because he once again grabs my arms, and spins me around. But this time he doesn't let go, even as I struggle against him. Shoving him in the chest, I say, "I said, _don't touch me._"

"I'll touch you if I want to touch you," he growls, and I try to shove him again, but he catches my wrists, and holds them forcefully in his grasp. He looks down at me with heaved eyebrows. "Will you just _calm down_? Stop struggling, both you and I know that won't work." And even though I see the truth in his words, it does not keep me from trying once more to hit him. Of course I don't manage, in fact, he doesn't even budge as I use all the strength I own to try to fight him off. Eventually, I stop struggling, having realized it is futile, and I glare spitefully up at him.

"What do you want?" I hiss through my teeth. "Tell me I'm a whore? Compare me to Glimmer again? Decide whom you'd rather fuck of us?" The words I spit feels like poison in my mouth, and I certainly hope they feel like poison when they hit him.

"Will you just stop it? Shit, angel, you don't need to be this fucking angry. I didn't even do anything this time, you're only mad at loverboy for stealing the show."

I snort angrily. "No, of course, you did nothing at all," I drawl sarcastically, and snap my arms out of his loosened grip. Instead of trying to punch him, or do something else that drastically violent – which I want so badly I can feel it tingle in my fingers, I stride away from him. He follows behind me, and catches my wrist -yet again- as I'm about to enter my room, before turning me to face him. He looks rather calm, especially in comparison to what he looked like earlier, and heaved eyebrows rest on his forehead as he glances down to search my features. "I'm gonna shower," I tell him as calmly as I can manage through the sad anger roaming my body. "You can come in later, but right now, I wanna be alone." And with that, he lets me go, and I slip into my room, slamming the door shut behind me.

Fuck Cato. Fuck loverboy. Fuck the fucking Capitol. Fuck the bitch on fire. Fuck everything!

I want to scream. I want to scream, and curse, and cry, and kill, _so badly. _And I almost give into the temptation, knowing that I really should be behaving for my own good. But instead of throwing one of my usual mad tantrums, I manage to distract myself by the blinding Capitol lights. They are even more mesmerizing than normal, as bright, colorful shapes takes place on the obviously fake sky, as loud, dazzling fireworks.

Making my way over to the window, I lean against the frame, and forget everything about the shower I'm supposed to take. The lights outside the window are almost enough to make me forget everything about tonight too. Almost – but not quite. It is intruding my brain, no matter how badly I want it gone. I want to erase the way I saw Cato look at Glimmer from my mind forever, I want to take the elevator up to Floor 12 and kill the bitch on fire and her fake lover, but most of all I want to make myself not exist anymore.

I hate him. I hate him so badly it hurts, because I am going to give my life for his, being that there is no chance in hell I can live without the monstrous boy whom makes my heart ache as fuck. He is so unnecessary mean, _all the fucking time. _And I hate how he goes far beyond just being an asshole, and manages to stomp all over my already bruised heart. I hate how I'm clearly not enough for him – not pretty enough, not thin enough, not good enough.

Who was I kidding, right? Because who did ever believe that a guy like Cato, could love a girl like me? I fell for it straight away – how could I be so naïve? I don't deserve him, far from. He deserves someone matching his beautiful appearance, and brave character. Not a girl who sees things that shouldn't really be there.

The door opens slowly, and I'm surprised as I hear it is Cato, as he never seems to know how to neither open or close a door gently. But I can hear his footsteps, and I know it is him. I can even smell it as he stops behind me – he smells so good, and if comfort had had a smell, it would certainly be his. But even though he is standing so close to me that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body through my dress, I still don't acknowledge him in any way.

"Clove," he eventually breathes, like in a defeated sigh. He carefully places his hand on my shoulder, but I shrug him off, still ignoring him. He sighs yet again, and bends forward to whisper softly in my ear, "Why are you mad?" And the warmth of his breath hitting my skin, and the softness in his voice is enough to drive me over the edge. But I still remain, feet solidly planted to the earth.

I want to laugh sarcastically at him, but any sort of laugh won't escape my throat, and I stay as the mute girl. He can't just fucking do this. He can't just piss me off, and then come back and ask why I'm mad. That is not how things work. But Cato has never seemed to give a fuck about whether this is how things work. Silence wraps around us for a long time, and my desperate need to break it, ends disastrously, "Do you think she is prettier than me?" I ask him eventually, in an oh, so quiet voice, regretting the words as soon as I let them escape.

Cato goes scarily silent for what seems like forever, and I wait in dreadful anticipation on the answer I'm sure will be yes. Eventually, he seems to have snapped out of whatever trance he was in, reaches out to rest his hand on my arm, and leans in close. I'm still watching the Capitol lights, and I feel his warmth embrace me as he presses into me from behind. "Clove," he says, so softly, so gently, that I almost want to turn to look if it actually is him standing behind me.

My throat feels thick with the lump of pain claiming its spot there, and it hurts so much. Why does he have to drag it out any further? Why can't he just admit it, and get it over with? Rip the band-aid cleanly off? "There isn't a girl in the whole fucking world who is more beautiful than you."

_Lie. _

"Then why were you staring at her? I get it, Cato. She is beautiful, I get it. Just don't lie to me." But something tells me that the truth might pain me more than the fact that he is lying to me. "You never lie to me," I whisper. "Don't start now."

And there is yet again that strange, strained silence. It lays around us like a suffocating blanket, and I can't seem to breathe as he yet again bends forward and places his mouth near my ear. His jaw is brushing my hair, and I can't help but shiver as he lays his hand on my waist. "Do you want to know why I was staring?" _What? _Of course not! Is he fucking stupid? I already know that, but really? It is like sprinkling salt in my fresh wounds.

A sob is building in my throat, and I do everything I can to choke it. Because I can not let Cato see me cry, I can't let him see how he affects me. I close my eyes as I feel tears pool in them, trying to force them back. The sob doesn't escape, to my great fortune, but it instead transforms into a rather ragged breath.

"Sure, Glimmer is pretty," he continues, shoving knives into my heart. "And sure, it was kinda distracting with her dress where I could practically see everything. I'm not gonna lie, that was the reason I looked in the first place, 'cause of that more than revealing dress. But the reason I continued to stare was because I was picturing _you _in that dress, Clove. In the bedroom, of course, 'cause I'd never let you wear that in public. But the point is; when I looked at her, the only thing I could think about was how you would look so much better in that dress than her. I thought about you. It's always _you._"

Instead of acknowledging his lying words, I continue to ignore him. But I really want to press my my ears childishly over my ears, and scream at him to stop. I want to scream until we both go deaf. "Come on, angel," he whispers in my ear. "You know you're the one I want." He moves his hand from my waist, to my arm, and drags his hand up toward my shoulder, barely brushing my skin with his gentle fingers. With a quick motion, he has managed to unpin my skillfully pinned hair with his other hand, making it fall down around my shoulders, and his one hand is caressing the nape of my neck.

I still want to cry. I still want to scream. But I don't do any of those things, as his fingers fumbles on the back of my neck to find the zipper of my dress, brushing my freed hair over my shoulder as he does so. When he finds it, he slowly slides the zipper down, stopping at the middle of my back. Something which kind of confuses me, as the it really goes all the way down to my far lower back. And if it is something Cato isn't, it is patient, so why is he stopping? Usually when he wants to have me, he takes me, and it doesn't matter if I want to, or not.

Reaching up to my shoulder again, he slides the rather thick strap down to my upper arm, causing my pale shoulder to come exposed. Soft lips brushes against the skin there, and I become completely rigid as he moves to my neck, and gently kisses the area below my ear. "You're beautiful," he whispers, as his other hand opens my dress even more, and he now can see my whole back. The straps of my dress are sliding further and further down my arms, and he is the one who is so gently guiding them. Suddenly the dress has fallen to the floor, and I'm only standing in my underwear and high-heeled shoes.

Cato inhales sharply as my dress falls, and I can feel the slight curl of the corners of his mouth against my skin. "I want you, angel," he whispers against my neck. "Will you let me show you? Will you let me show you how much I want you? Will you let me show you how beautiful you are?"

Faint surprise embraces me as he for once asks, and even though I don't show my slight shock, I still wonder why. Why is he asking for what he normally just takes? And why is he asking to do the impossible? It doesn't make any sense what so ever in my chaotic mind. But my body continues to tense as his hands yet again brushes down my arms. One of his hands goes from my hand over to my waist, and around my torso. He gently turns me around by grabbing around me, and lets his hand linger on the low of my back.

His gaze is intense as it meets mine, and I try to keep the emotions overflowing my chest from showing, putting on that emotionless mask of mine. "You never ask me, you just take me," I whisper, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"I want you to tell me you want me to take you, not only show it to me. 'Cause I know you want me, angel, I can see it in your eyes."

I shake my head. "What if I don't want you?" I whisper.

"That will never happen," he tells me. "You're mine, and I'm yours, and the reason we are together is because I wanted you, and you wanted me, and that won't ever go away, you hear me?" He urges me into him by pressing his palm against my lower back, causing me to become so close to him that I can feel his breath hitting my forehead. "You'll always want me, and I'll always want you. That's just how it is, Clove. No matter if you want it to be, or not."

To my great misfortune, he is right. "I don't want to want you," I whisper, my voice slowly growing in volume. "I don't want to need you," I say. "I don't want to love you." Staring up at him, I'm not able to withhold that mask on my face, and I let it slowly wither into an expression of angry hurt. "Because it hurts, and I hate you, Cato. So fucking bad. You-" My words get cut off by a sob breaking free from my chest, and I quickly look away from him, preventing him from seeing my vulnerable state.

Biting my trembling lip, I feel his one finger brush against my cheekbone, before sliding down to my chin, and guiding my head to face him. "I love you," he says abruptly, and he seems confused about how he just blurted those words. "_You. _Not Glimmer, not Gia, or any of those girls flinging themselves at me. It's you, you, and only you, Clove."

Staring at him, I don't know what to say, what to believe, what to feel. I don't know anything, and it is driving me crazy. "No," tell him suddenly, pushing my palms against his chest, shoving him hard away. "No!" I say through gritted teeth, shoving him once again as anger blooms in my chest as a violent flower. The fact that I'm standing only in my underwear, makes me even more angry, as I did let him undress me. "You don't. It isn't." I shake my head in a couple sad shakes. "Then you wouldn't have drooled over her like that. You don't love me, you fucking asshole."

Cato grips my chin hard, and digs his fingers roughly into the hollow of my cheeks. "Don't you dare," he warns. "Don't you dare say I don't love you, because we both know damn good I do. Who was the one who confessed, and who was the one who had to think, before returning the words, hm?" he accuses. "If you think I like Glimmer that much, then why am I here, about to fuck you, instead of in Floor 1, to fuck her? Why do you think I hold you every time you break down, and let you cry in my fucking arms? Who was the one who made sure you didn't do something stupid when you acted out after the miscarriage? I did all those things. And I did that because you're Clove Cavia, you're mine, you're perfect, and I fucking love you."

Staring at him with that blank expression of nothingness on my face, I watch his eyes flame with emotions I can't even begin to fathom. With his fingers still pinching my chin, he softly presses his lips against my forehead – that seldom gentleness of his brushing lips smothers the brute of his violent hold. Then his lips find my cheek, lingering gently – his scarily careful actions manage to shock me, and I tense completely under his caring touch. From my cheek, he inches slowly, and still oh, so gently, toward my lips. And when he reaches his destination, he moves them softly against mine. Soft, small pecks, but his lips never actually leave mine, and it is like he is inviting me, _urging _me, to kiss him back.

Eventually, I return one of those light pecks, knowing that this is his attempt at making everything okay. As he feels my just as gentle response, his arm coils firmly around my waist, and he is lifting me until there are only the tip of my shoes which are connecting with the ground. The hand of the fingers clasped around my chin, goes straight to my hair, where he tugs playfully, and again: _gently. _His mouth continues a bit more eager onto mine, and I can't help but slowly slide my hand up his muscular arms, snaking them around his thick neck.

With the slightest bit of hesitation, I let him part my lips with his own. My lower lip gets some loving attention from his sliding, and oh, so familiar tongue, as he asks for permission to enter. And as always, my resolve falters. Even though this time it crumbled even faster, as Cato being gentle seems to have that forgiving effect on me. "Do you believe me, angel?" he whispers against my lips, the words muffled the slightest.

I look up into his eyes, my lips still on his, though they are both stilled. His question catches me by a surprise, as when he normally upsets me, we fight, we scream, and then it eventually evolves into body-wrecking, furious sex. But this is different – he is way too gentle, and I am way too upset. "Show me," I murmur against his lips, glancing up into his clear blue eyes. "Show me," I demand softly. Cato's eyes softens at my words, and the tiny grin taking hold of his mouth is undeniable.

And for once, Cato obeys: he shows me perfectly fine. The grip he has around my waist becomes rougher as he inches his hand downward, the other hand reaches down to curl around my thigh, and he lifts me. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I let his tongue in to explore my mouth, which he already has explored so many times. Our tongues dance together in a slow waltz, with only a hint of our usual brutality.

But we can only keep it gentle for so long, before the lascivious side of us both mercilessly surface. Cato turns around with me in his arms, before I feel myself falling to the bed, where he follows suit, quickly climbing on top of me. He reaches down to undo my strapped high-heels, and throws them across the room, where they hit the wall and land noisily. "You don't need this Capitol shit to look beautiful," he whispers to me, and I can feel myself still being doubtful of his words.

He runs his hand forcefully up my legs, over my thighs and all the way up to my face, where he grabs me between his palms, and kisses me. In that moment, when he is occupied holding my head in place, and caressing my hair, I flip us both around. But that usual grin of victory won't appear, as I simply don't feel like I have something to grin about.

With a tiny struggle -being that now he is beneath me- I mange to get the t-shirt over his head, with only the slightest bit of help, and Cato soon goes for my bra. As he does so, I find myself freezing in ice cold dread. "Wait," I tell him quietly, and his hands stop at my ribcage, on his way around to unclasp the only fabric keeping him from seeing my upper body wholly. He looks up at me with question in his eyes, his eyebrows heaving the slightest – partly in wonder, partly in a frown. "Don't compare me to her," I say lowly, lowering my gaze in pathetic uncertainty, and shame, knowing well enough that I won't measure up to Glimmer's pretty picture of perfection.

Biting my lip, I finally find the courage to look at him again, readying myself for a taunting laugh to mock my insecurity. The mocking I expect, is nowhere to be found in his soft gaze, and I watch as he studies my face closely. "Angel," Cato sighs, and removes his hands from my ribs, before taking mine in his. He massages my palms gently -in soothing patterns- with his thumbs and continues with that intense searching of my face. "She is the one who can't even begin to compare to _you_," he says.

At that attempt of conviction, I give a small smile, loving with every fiber of my body how he is so desperately trying to make me feel better – trying to convince my stubborn mind. Cato takes that smile as a cue to continue, and I let him, with the new-found confirmation that I won't be compared to someone much more beautiful. He expertly unclasps my bra, and slides the straps down my arms, exposing my breasts to his hungry sight. My breath hitches in my throat as he is roaming my body with his eyes, and a soft grin reaches his lips. Throwing my bra away, he reaches up to my face, and lowers me down to meet his lips.

When my attention is elsewhere, and not on keeping him beneath me, he -of course- uses that to his advantage, and rolls us around, causing me to once again be at the bottom. (Secretly, I don't mind – loving it when he dominates me. But I will never let him know that, so a fight for control it will be.) Cato's lips never left mine as he turned us around, but they do now as he makes his way down my body. The trail of kisses, nibbles, bites, and the swirling of his tongue, is enough to make my back arch in pleasure. He reaches under my arched back, and presses his palm against my lower back – the kisses becoming intensified, and the bites more brutal.

Soon, he has reached his destination, which is only covered by a pair of the small panties Ara made me wear. Cato slides his hand from my back, around my hip, and down to my thigh, where I have to stifle a moan on contact. Teeth is what removes the panties, and the teeth belong to no other than the man who loves finding alternative ways of getting me undressed.

In the end, I lay completely exposed, and vulnerable before him, as his studying gaze refuses to leave my body, even for the slightest second. When his intense stare becomes too much for me to handle, and the weak feeling of insecurity takes over, I start covering myself with my hands. Cato sees what I'm about to do, and grabs my arms. "Don't," he whispers. "You don't need to cover yourself, Clove. You have no reason to, trust me." His hands guide mine to rest at my sides, and he stands on his knees between my legs, raising himself up so he can get a proper look on me. His gaze is hazy as I watch him study me intensely. "You're so beautiful, angel," he whispers eventually, something seemed to have melted all the usual ice in his voice, and set a soft murmur in its place. "I can't believe you're mine."

When I look into his eyes in that moment, everything changes. The look in his eyes is one of such pure admiration, and lust, and _truth, _that I know it is something he can't fake. He truly thinks of me as _beautiful – _pretty crazy, isn't it? And I know I would give anything to see myself through his eyes. In that moment, all my resolve falters, all my uncertainties disappear, and all my fear of him leaving me for someone else, seems to never have existed.

As a wave of relief shoots through my body, I reach out for him, finally having realized that my insecurity might have been stupid all along. He sees my want, and he bends down to meet my hungry, and waiting lips. Then he proceeds to become his usual ungentle self, and I couldn't be more happy about his rough hands roaming my body in that particularly violent way, because that look of utter admiration never leaves his gaze.

This will be a crazy night – I can feel the fact boiling in my veins, as we are already making the bed shake, and creak in protest, with every violent motion. The room is filled with muffled gasps, grunts, groans, and moans, as the endless competition of not showing our pleasure, and of pleasuring the other the most, is still on. As he pushes hard inside of me, I stifle a moan by biting my lip. And as I buck my hips to meet his, he muffles his grunt by burying his face in my neck.

It continues like this for a long time – crazy, teasing, brutal, good, violent. Perfect. And in the end we collapse, limbs entangled in limbs, together in a sweaty heap on the bed made damp by sweat...and other things. We lay looking at the ceiling, as we try to still our pants of exhaustion, and pleasure. My one leg is caught between his two, and my arm lays somewhat sprawled over his chest. His hand is stroking the hand of mine which is lingering on his chest rather roughly, as his brutal sex instincts have not yet calmed.

When I'm sure I can talk without gasping for air, I turn to lay on my side, so I can face my beautiful lover. Cato uses the opportunity of me shifting beside him, to get his one arm under me, and presses me close to him. Dragging my free hand over his chest, I inch up to his face, and touch the line of his jaw gently. He turns his head to look at me, and an unreadable expression is plastered on his emotionless face. If we had been normal people, not brought up to murder, if we had been like those in District 12, maybe he would have smiled. And if that had been the case; that we weren't professional, fucked killers, I might even have smiled back.

But we are murderers, and we are fucked, so no smile surfaces on either of our faces – just like we both want it. The silence wraps around us simultaneously as his arms wrap around me, and I can't help but notice how comfortable it really is – we don't need words. Just each other.

He is searching my eyes now, searching for nothing it seems, as his eyes continue their endless journey on my face, without any sliver of confusion arriving, or any trace of disappointment as if a result of not finding what he wanted. My finger slides down the line of his firm jaw, and I can't help but take notice of how tousled his hair looks after a million of my violent tugs. "Thank you for making me feel beautiful," I tell him quietly, seriously, and oh, so cold. Because those words don't deserve any emotion to make me seem any weaker, the meaning of them portrays that flaw greatly enough.

Instead of saying anything back, he just leans toward me, and kisses my temple – knowing that speaks enough. And there we lay – wrapped in each other's arms, tangled in each other's limbs, bare and exposed. When it is starting to get a bit chilly, we slip under the covers, and I'm very aware of how Cato is about to doze off. But that is not unusual though, being that our activities seem to always tire him out. And I let him sleep, even though I would have him rather not, so he can keep me company. But I know he will need all the sleep he can get, as the Games start for real tomorrow, and despite my violent urge to spend my last waking minutes with a conscious Cato, I know it will be cruel to keep him awake for my own sake.

When I'm sure he is asleep, I gently tear out of his grip – still strong, even in sleep. I suddenly find the room suffocating as it is still oozing of sex, and I know I will need some fresh air to clear my complicated head. Grabbing the fabric closest to me in the wardrobe, I find it is a dark purple nightgown. Claustrophobia is threatening to choke me with invisible hands, and I pull it over my head with some reluctance -I hate dresses- before quietly scurrying out of the room.

The air hits me forcefully in the face as I arrive the roof, and a soft breath of relief finds its way out of my mouth, as I no longer feel the choking hands around my throat. The blinding Capitol lights have not stilled the least as Cato and I fucked, and they are lightening the whole sky. Making my way to the roof's edge, I press my damp palms flat against the slightly cold rail – the coldness of it cooling my hot skin.

It is unsettling to think that there is a chance I might be dead tomorrow at this exact hour, and even more so that Cato might be. I find myself almost laughing at the large underestimation. _Unsettling – _more like suffocating, and destroying. But the overwhelming anger which has surfaced whenever I thought the dreadful thought that we both can't survive, doesn't arrive now, and I know I'm finally coming to terms with my fate – no matter how much I fucking dread it. Life never gave me much anyway, so maybe death will be like a gift, saving me from the cruel, heartless being I am?

Though the thought of dying has become more and more familiar these last couple of days, I still hate it so much that I find myself sick to my stomach. I want to throw up, and nausea is building in the core of my belly, but I force it back with all the will-power I own. Even though I'm not that fucking furious anymore, it still does nothing to falter the raw fear collecting in my body. The fear of death's dark, and destroying hand, uniting with mine. The cool wind blows right through the thin fabric of my nightgown, chilling me to the bones, along with the thought of death.

I don't want to think anymore. I don't want to think, I don't want to feel, I don't want to die. I don't want to, and I'm afraid, and pissed that no one fucking cares what I want. But that is always how it has been – who would ever care about the fucked up Clove Cavia? Who would care what she thinks? Who would care if she dies? _No one_, is the dreadful answer. _None at fucking all_.

The thoughts I so desperately don't want to think, are like whispering voices in the back of my head, and they won't go away. Pressing my hands childishly over my ears, I try to force them out, knowing that I must look quite ridiculous, and _small _here I'm standing in my nightgown, and trying to block out the noise in my mind – like a helpless little child. The only indication that I might be older, is the smell of sex, and Cato, which is lingering strongly on my pale skin.

But even through the intruding voices that are my thoughts, I still detect a certain familiar boy behind me. I don't know why I have this ability to almost _sense _him, but I do, and I just know he is there, looking at me. If he has been standing there long, I have no idea, but I quickly remove my hands from where they are clasped over my ears, as I know it looks quite suspicious, and that I certainly must look crazy.

Cato doesn't come any closer, before I decide to attract his attention by climbing on the rail. That gets his feet moving fast, as I'm sure he is thinking I will do something stupid, like jumping, or something. As I'm climbing, I have to stop for the slightest second to actually consider it – everything would certainly be much easier if I decided to just jump, and get my death over with quickly. But then I remember Enobaria telling me about the force fields down there, and I know there is no way of escaping this madness – not by suicide, not by anything else. You can't escape the Capitol's claws.

In that one moment, I tense up in sudden fear. The nightmares of falling feels like sharp stabs of memories in my brain, and it is overwhelming how I'm suddenly able to feel the air whizzing past me in that terrifying sensation that is falling. But I soon push it away, and the fact that I can do that so easily, alarms me in the worst possible way. But for once, I find myself not caring.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Cato's voice sounds angry behind me, and I can't help but smirk a little at the obvious worry in his tone. I'm steadying myself now, knowing that I have nearly perfect balance, and that balancing on this railing will be easy. As Cato is nearing me, I'm already standing -perfectly poised- on top of the rail, and the fact that he has stopped and is just staring dumbfounded up at me, causes my smirk to widen the slightest.

"Come back to fuck me again, have you?" I tease, ignoring his question on purpose at first, but when I see his dangerous look, I know that might not be a good idea. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll let you hold my hand," I tell him with a cold smirk gracing my face, and holding out my hand for him to take.

Cato looks incredulously at me, and hesitates – turmoil being obvious on his sleepy, but yet so handsome face. "You're not gonna jump, are you?" he asks, lowly. My mean, mocking laughter sounds through the air like a snarling, ugly noise. It brings Cato's expression to the edge of confusion, and makes my very self sound utterly crazy. "Angel, don't do anything stupid," he warns from where he is standing about two meters away from me, and we both seem to know that I will have the time to jump before he can run over here and grab me. Instead of answering him, I shake my hand impatiently in the empty air, and he eventually steps forward to take it in his. A sigh of relief escapes his lips, and his hand curls tightly around mine, knowing that now, if I decide to jump, he will be able to save me.

Starting to walk forward, Cato follows beside me on the ground, gripping my hand so tightly I think he might soon crush my bones. But I don't say anything to him, as I know that he is worrying enough as it is. The balancing is not too hard, as long as I concentrate on placing my feet exactly where they have to be for me to not fall. "I thought you were going to jump," he murmurs quietly from where he stands down there, his expression suggesting relief, and something troubling at the same time.

"Don't be stupid," I chirp darkly at him, looking down with a somewhat serious expression on my face. "There are force fields down there. If I wanted to die, I would have just found a knife." I shrug the slightest, like it isn't that big of a deal, the thought about suicide. And that is true, even though I doubt from the stunt we pulled earlier, that they will ever allow me to walk unsupervised in any building of the Capitol ever again.

Cato goes immediately silent as I talk about killing myself, and his grip tightens even more bone-crushing around my hand. The wind caresses my hair, and makes it sway gently, along with my nightgown, which is playfully tickling my knees. The cold blowing of the wind is not cold anymore, as Cato is back, and wherever there is Cato, there is warmth.

Silence embraces us like an old comfortable friend, because the words on my tongue are not enough – his presence is. "You're wearing a dress," he murmurs after a while has passed, where we both have just walked – me on the railing, and Cato on the roof below. He looks up at me – face bared for anything hostile, cruel, or mocking, it is simply a statement.

"Uh-huh," I agree softly, still rather annoyed by the fact that I actually am wearing a dress. Because Clove Cavia does not wear dresses, and I can practically count on my one hand how many times I have worn one. Once, at a party back in District 2, only because mine and Cato's devious game of revenge. Second time, at the Opening Ceremony, though that could hardly be called a dress. The third, and fourth time have been tonight, at the interview, and now, in a flowing nightgown. I hate dresses.

I'm expecting him to change from this gentle, wrong image of my brutal man, into the violent, mocking being he really is. But he doesn't. Instead of a mean comment hitting me high-speed about the purple gown, he instead says lowly, "I like it."

As every other time he has said something nice, surprise flows through my veins so strongly that I find myself tensing in shock. My heads snap fast to face him, to see if he is serious, or if a mocking expression is taking hold of his face. It isn't. But as my head whirls in his direction, I have already begun to take the next step, and as all my concentration is lost, I fail remarkably in putting my foot down. My fail caused by Cato's surprising distraction, results in me falling. Dread settles strongly in my whole body as my nightmares seem to have finally become true.

When I fall, Cato's fast reflexes kicks in, and he grabs me forcefully, before I clumsily land in his arms. "Whoa," Cato breathes right before I land, and a low, "Shit," when my elegant landing is complete. "That was close."

My heart is slamming hard inside my chest, and I'm almost certain Cato can feel it too, where our chests are pressed together. I put my arms around his neck, and he holds me up by an arm around my waist. Looking up at him, I'm sure he sees the terrified expression on my face, and I nod in agreement. "Too close," I whisper.

He lifts me gently to place me on the rail, but his hands never leave my body, both of us obviously afraid I'm going to find a way to fall again. My hands are shaking the slightest, as I let them slide from his neck, and rest on his triceps. "You scared me," he accuses in a growling whisper.

"You distracted me," I blame him back, knowing it wasn't really his fault. He was not the one who told me to go and balance on the rail, none other than my very self can take the glory for that amazing idea. Trying to still the tremble that is my hand, I dig my fingers into his arm, knowing that if I clutch at him any harder, my nails will puncture his skin.

The corners of his lips tilt slightly upward in a vague hint of a smile. "But you look beautiful in that dress," he tells me, curling one hand around my thigh, while the other digs into my side, keeping me securely in place. "You should wear dresses more." And I wonder if he realizes that tonight will be my last chance ever at wearing one. It seems like he is reading my mind, as he defies my inner voice, "You can wear them when we get home."

"Cato.." I begin, not really sure of what to say. Slowly, I move my hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and cup his face between my palms. "You do realize that the both of us can't go home, right?" I say slowly, gently, like I'm talking to a small, ignorant child. "You haven't convinced yourself that we can, have you?"

His eye soon grow cold, and angry, as his fingers dig furiously into my thigh. "We'll go home, angel. We'll win, and you and I will go home _together_."

It is scary to think that he might have tried to convince himself about this so much that it actually worked. What will he do when I die, and that piece of perfected paradise he has painted as our future, crumbles before his eyes? There is only one winner. One lone victor.

Instead of trying to convince him otherwise, I just guide his lips to where they belong; on mine, knowing that when Cato has set his mind on something, it can't be changed unless he wants it himself. Cato answers with forcing my legs apart, and pressing his body into me, still carefully making sure I won't fall down. The thought of death lingers like a nasty reminder in the back of my mind, even through the kissing.

In the end it is me who decides to take the kissing to another level, as it is usually him. I tug at the waistline of his pajama pants, and I can feel his lips curl into a smirk against mine. He reacts to my tugging, by sliding one hand up my thigh, and slipping under the hem of the dress. "Someone isn't wearing underwear," the smirk in his voice is undeniable.

I then proceed to tug once again at his pants, checking the one fact I'm so sure of – he can't really say much about _my _underwear. "You really aren't one to talk," I whisper back, and his grin widens as he smashes his mouth hard against mine. Then he takes me right there, under the fake stars, the flashing Capitol lights, and noisy fireworks, on the cold rail, while I'm wearing a dress – something I could never in my wildest imagination ever have imagined.

…

It is quiet. The faint noises which sounded through the walls earlier, caused by the noisy fireworks, have stilled completely. Even though the Capitol is far from silent -it never goes quiet- it is still as quiet as it can be. Cato has cradled me in his arms in the bed in my room, and though we are trying to sleep, it seems like sleep just won't come. Is it the adrenaline caused by the thought of killing? Or is it the heartbreak caused by the thought of only one making it out alive? It is both, for me, anyway. Cato has convinced himself that he will find a way to get us both out of there. How he is supposed to do that; I have no idea. It scares me.

Cato is lazily playing with my hair; tugging gently, running his fingers through it, and using it to tickle me in the face. He grins every time I huff when he tickles me, as it is so annoying, and Cato loves to annoy me. With the calming caressing of my man, I close my eyes in one last desperate attempt at falling asleep. But instead of sleep finding me, something else does.

Thoughts are whirling through my mind in a pace so fast that I almost can't comprehend what they are screaming at me – almost. Because I do understand them, how can't I, with the voices shouting that loudly at me? _You will die. _They won't go away, no matter how much I try to force them out. No matter how hard I try to distract myself by listening to Cato's strong heartbeat, the beating sound will still not drown out the mean voices. _Cato will die._

And the fact that things finally seemed to be getting so much better, makes it even worse. He told me he loves me, and I said it back. We are two halves of a whole, and the fact that will be split that way, torn apart in the most cruel, and violent way, is enough to get my heart bursting with angry sorrow. And it is this sorrow which creates the silent sob escaping my throat. The sobs are dry, and tearless, but still trembles through my body like the most violent earthquake. The only thing Cato can do as I cry my dry tears, is holding me, and stroking soothing patterns into my skin. It works, to some extent, but the sobs won't still with the first.

It is physically painful to sob this way – it blocks my airways, and it feels like someone is strangling me. But no matter how much pain it brings my lungs, and head, and throat, it will never even compare to the raw, piercing pain of my breaking heart. Trying to block the pain, to push it away, I curl into myself, which causes Cato to curl with me, though my head is still buried in his chest.

But I know the pain won't vanish, and I also know I should be able to turn my swirling emotions off, knowing they just complicate everything so much more. Because now I'm sobbing, and Cato is holding me, and I know that this will be the last embrace we will ever share, and it hurts so bad. Why does the world keep sticking knives into the heart of a girl whose heart has already been pierced one too many times?

When they finally still, I know they leave with almost everything I have of emotions. Because sobbing my heart out like that, leaves me so utterly empty – it feels like the miscarriage all over again. Only this time, it wasn't the baby who died, it is the emotions which have blown up fully, to then wither in peace, allowing me to become the emotionless killer I will need to be to survive my own death.

The sobs come as softly ragged breaths now, tricking Cato into believing I'm done, though I'm still crying -_screaming_- on the inside. Cato strokes my arm lightly, and then managing somehow to get beneath me, so we are now laying chest to chest. Then Cato brings my legs on each side of his body, making me straddle him by using his hands, and then proceeds to sit up. It causes me to fall into his lap, before my butt hits the soft bed as his legs move. Collecting my own legs, I push them as far beneath me as they will go, with Cato's legs forming a protective shield around my small form.

"How long do we have left?" I whisper, feeling as if it might be wrong to heave my voice as the Capitol have finally stilled. The suffocation that question brings radiates through the air around us, as it tries to suck all the oxygen out of it.

Cato looks at the clock on the nightstand, before answering lowly, "About five hours." Five small hours until we will be separated in the most brutal way. Five small hours of being just Cato and Clove, with dark minds, but still in love. Five small hours until we ready ourselves to be thrown out to death's claws -from one claw to the other- and our dark love will officially be doomed for destruction.

Nodding once, I stare blankly at him, feeling strangely empty – my body is numb, my chest is bursting with choking emotions. I don't even bother to feel shame for crying anymore, I guess though, that it gives Cato the assurance he needs about me loving him, as I'm obviously not good at returning those words. He reaches out to entwine my hand with his – the only part of our bodies which are connecting, and I brush my thumb over his scar.

Once again, silence is the only thing to be heard, and I lock my gaze on our joined hands. The contrast between them is laughable really, as it seems like his hand is ready to devour mine. His is really big, and mine is very small – just like the personalities we hold. It is funny how someone so small, and someone so large, can fit together in that perfect way we do. Even though I have to stand on my toes to kiss him when we stand on the ground, and he has to bend, and curl his back the slightest, to kiss me when we fuck. It doesn't matter: I'm his, he is mine, and we are the perfect, but yet the most disastrous match.

"Clove," Cato growls lowly, and my head snaps up quickly to face him, as his sudden voice tears me out of my thoughts. "Close your eyes," he commands, the soft voice from earlier is slowly dying, and I find that voice more familiar than the one he has used tonight. I frown up at him in confusion, my eyes narrowing into tiny slits as I try to figure out what he is contriving.

"Why?" I demand, and it is his turn to narrow his eyes. I almost have to bite my lip to keep a ridiculous little smile from surfacing, caused by his evident annoyance, but then, as I remember there really isn't anything to smile about, it withers long before it even can twitch a muscle around my mouth.

"Just close them," he barks, and I -for once- obey right away, as I find myself too drained to really bother fighting back. Besides, a fight isn't really what I want to end our precious last five hours with either.

Shuffling sounds break the demanding silence, and I fight the urge to sneak a peek. But I know he will be furious if I do so, so I keep my eyes firmly closed. When the sound of him moving stills, there is no noise at all – except his breathing, which becomes weirdly prominent. "What's taking so long?" I ask impatiently, as I know he is just sitting there. I can feel his gaze on me. "Are you just sitting there, watching me?"

"No," he grunts, and a small part of me has to smirk about the lack of conviction in that word. Cato breathes deeply, and I can't help but notice how it is slightly ragged, as of nerves. But Cato doesn't get nervous, and what will he have to be nervous about here? It is just me, after all. "You can open them now," he says slowly, and his face appears in front of me as I open my eyes. His clear blue eyes flickers over my face, and I can't read the cold expression lingering there.

But then two words, shocking enough to make my heart skip a couple of beats, escapes his lips. Two words that should really be asked as a question, but coming from him, they sound like a cruel command. Nothing is romantic with this moment, only as cold as the icy persons we are, allows it to be. Then he brings out the ring, and his voice is cold, hostile, threatening me if I don't obey, when he says, when he _commands:_

"Marry me."


	15. When Love Means Goodbye

**Author's note: **Thank you all so much for your kind reviews, I really appreciate it. And I realize that cliffhanger at the end of the last chapter was rather mean, but then again, I am rather mean sometimes.. Anyway, enjoy!

Oh, and praise to the ones of you who catch the Lana Del Rey reference..

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><p>15.<p>

When Love Means Goodbye

The hurtful moment;

When love means goodbye

They say love never killed

Love never had them thrilled

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><p>"<em>It's time to be a big girl now. And big girls don't cry." Big Girls Don't Cry, Fergie<em>

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><p>I think my jaw dropped pretty close to my chest, as a result of the more than shocking demand, which practically came out of nowhere. Even though I saw the ring a few moments before his command, but nothing, not even knowing it beforehand, can make me any less shocked.<p>

I'm shocked, and stunned, and pretty much speechless, as I search his eyes for any indication that this is a joke. I can't find any, and I strive to close my hanging mouth. The numbness of my body is spreading further, and I can feel it go through me like a paralyzing wave of confusion. Questions, and doubt are popping in my head like flowers in the spring, and I find it hard to wrap my brain around his words.

Then suddenly, I manage to focus, to _really _focus on that deep, deep blue of his clear eyes, and I snap out of it. I snap right out of the shocked, tense state of confusion, and I snap quite violently, with a shake of my head. "What?" I exclaim rather loudly, and I can see his dark amusement over my violent surprise.

"Marry me," he repeats simply, with an unsettling fake patience. And the lack of a question in those words lingers between us – we both know it, but neither acknowledges it. It is just like the whole 'I love you' thing again, where I'm stunned speechless, and my tongue has been glued to the insides of my mouth.

"You.. You want me to _marry _you?" I ask, sounding far too incredulous, and really far too stunned in general. And it is hard to understand, it is hard to believe that the violent, brutal Cato just asked me to marry him. More like commanded me to, but that doesn't really matter, as I have never ever in my wildest imagination thought that Cato would get married, or ask someone to marry him for that matter. The thought is so ridiculous that it never even has graced my mind, and that is probably why he caught me so badly off guard with his so-called 'proposal'.

He nods his head curtly. "Yeah," he says, far too casual – like this is something he does everyday. "I want you to be mine in every possible way, and marriage is one of them."

"But Cato.." I trail off, dreading the words which I'm about to let off my tongue with every fiber of my being. "We're going into the Games together...You can't propose to me _now. _Not when one of us will be dead in two weeks."

He sighs – a short, angry huff of a breath. "It's not a suggestion – the marriage, you know. More like a command." He looks down at my incredulous face, while his stays the same unreadable. "And it's not only a command either, Clove, it's a promise. A promise to get both of us out alive. _Then _we can get married."

Surprisingly enough; anger doesn't overwhelm me as he tries to command me to marry him, but it troubles me that he is promising a promise I know he won't be able to keep. Cato never lies to me – until now, that is. And that thought makes me sad in an indescribable way, because through everything, that has always been the only thing I could rely on, the one thing that always stayed the same. But if that too is about to change, I'm not sure if I recognize my world anymore.

"What will you do if I say no?" I ask after a while of strained silence, knowing there is no point in trying to talk some sense into his thick head. And I'm also pretty sure he will turn to drastic assets if I don't agree to marry him, as that tone in his voice suggest he is really too serious about this. About wanting to marry me, about wanting me in general.

He looks at me for the longest time, and just as I figure he isn't going to answer, he says, "I'll wait."

"For what?" And we both pretend to hear that my voice isn't shaking the slightest.

"For you to come around and realize that you want to be mine, just as much as I want to be yours." My sudden silence is answer enough for him, as he grins in triumph. I stare at the ring in his hand, wondering if it will look good on my finger, if it will fit, and if I want to wear it at all. Do I want to marry him? My brain isn't able to come up with an intelligent answer.

The silence continues, and it seems like he has tensed, and is quiet in anticipation, as he is staring at me with his eyebrows vaguely heaved, and a questioning look in his eyes. "How can you believe that, Cato? How have you convinced yourself that everything will be fine?" I say suddenly, instead of saying what he wants to hear. In the back of my mind, I want to know just how he did it, so I can convince myself.

He sighs lowly, barely audibly, but I heard him. "I know that the both of us can't survive like the rules are now, but I'll find a way. You said it yourself. We'll find away, or _make _one. I'm gonna make our way, angel. I can't just let you slip from my fingers, I won't let you fucking do that. I don't know how I'll do it, but just trust me, Clove. Have I ever lied to you?"

Searching his eyes, I find what I'm looking for – honesty. "No, you haven't," I admit.

"Then what are you waiting for?" he asks, raising his eyebrows in slight wonder again. And with a cold expression plastered on my face, and a voice screaming 'what the fuck are you doing?' in the back of my mind, I hold out my hand to him. With a gentleness contrasting greatly to the cold mask he wears, he slides the ring onto my finger.

Holding it up before my eyes, I study its simple form: a small ruby, on a band of gold. It is simple, but yet, even in my mind which is practically incapable of detecting beauty, I know it is beautiful. And the crimson red of the ruby, I just know symbolizes our love for blood.

"When did you buy it?" I ask, slowly. Knowing he must have bought it back home, as I have seen the big, gaudy rings they wear here, and it is far from the beautiful simpleness of mine.

"It's from back home," he says, confirming my suspicion. "I was planning on proposing when you were gonna come and say goodbye to me, but I guess we never came that far," he finishes rather lowly. "So you had something to remind you of how I was gonna come back to you. Of how I always come back to you."

My head snaps up to face him, as my gaze had fallen to rest on the elegant ring. "What?" I exclaim again, knowing that him proposing before we both got reaped would have made me even more confused, as then the world love had never dared escaped my lips, and it was just myth found in my book of fairy tales.

"Why so surprised? You always were mine." And that is the thing. Marriage in District 2 rarely symbolizes love, but rather ownership. Where the man is the owner, and the woman is the owned. But I refuse to let Cato own me that way, as I simply am not a fucking object.

"I'm not a thing for you to own, Cato," I growl at him

"I know," he says, and nods like that is very reasonable, when our upbringing says it so clearly isn't. And it seems to linger in the air that I still haven't officially said yes to him yet, only held out my hand for him to put the ring on my finger, as an answer to his demand.

Yet again, silence creeps into the room, as we both seem unsure of what to say to the other. Technically, we are engaged now – according to Cato anyway, as he is the one ordering me to marry him. I find myself studying the ring again, where it feels so unfamiliar on my finger, but yet fits perfectly, like it was made for me. Like it was meant to be for Cato to buy it, and place it on my finger. Suddenly, I feel an overwhelming, crazy urge to laugh, as this whole thing is just as close to madness as I have ever been. But instead of laughing, I let my face rest in my usual cold mask as I look up at him. "This is crazy, you know," I tell him, shaking the finger with the ring the slightest. "You're crazy for asking me to marry you, and I'm fucking crazy for agreeing."

As he looks down at me, he grins. "Then it's good I like my girls insane," he whispers, and leans down to catch my lips with his. He curls his fingers into my hair, and presses his palms against my scalp, right behind my ears. Our tongues are fighting fiercely for domination, and in the end it is Cato who wins, as I have to draw back for air.

We are both breathing rather heavily, as I look up at him with a teasing glint in my eyes. "First 'I love you', and now, marriage. The brutal, bloody Cato is getting soft, isn't he?" I taunt, knowing he will bite at the bait right away. I know I'm getting under his skin as he rests his dangerous gaze on me, the one I have come to absolutely love.

And I really should have seen the sudden attempt at strangling me coming, as he often does that when he gets mad. I don't have any time what so ever to move out of the way, it doesn't matter how fast I am, and he lands on top of me, with his one hand clasped around my throat. "I can still break you, angel," he snarls in my ear, squeezing my neck tighter with each word. Now, I really can't breathe, and I claw at his hands. "Would a soft person snap someone's neck? Huh? Would someone soft, try to strangle you like this?" He smirks at me when he lets go, as I'm gasping heavily for air.

"Fuck you," I whisper, not fully managing to keep the grin off my face, and Cato can't either. The world seem to go completely still around us, and that is exactly when I decide to attack him. I don't catch him that much off guard as I would have liked, but despite that, I still manage to pin him beneath me on the bed.

We haven't played like this in a long time, and it feels good to have on of our half-serious, half-naked fights again. Because guess who always winds up naked? None other than me, as Cato also rips off every piece of clothing off of my body when he is already in action. Cato is struggling where he lays under me, or not exactly _struggling, _as he can get free any minute. But right now, in this second, _I _am the one who has the upper hand, and I will fight to keep it that way.

I'm sitting on his chest, straddling him, and also restraining his arms with my legs. This is the position Cato has the most trouble getting out off, and I would lie if I say that I don't absolutely love the way he is trying so frantically to get out beneath me. I leer down at him, and he nods in approval, "You're getting better, angel," he whispers with a grin occupying his taunting lips. "But not good enough." He then proceeds to throw me off him, as his arms suddenly tears from my grip. I ready myself to land on the floor, where I land gracefully, as I have fought with him enough to know what to expect.

He rolls off the bed, and lands on top of me, though he does spare me a little pain by catching himself the slightest, so I won't get wholly crushed by his heavy weight. "Just give up while we are playing nicely," he growls in my ear, and bites playfully on my earlobe, drawing blood.

I look up at him with a smirk on my face. "You know I don't like to play.." I jam my knee into his groin, rather gently as I know I will endure hell for that later, and then as he must take a break to check if his man-parts are still okay, I bring my legs up to my chest and push him harshly away with my feet. He grunts as he falls off me, still haven't recovered after my perfect hit in the perfect target. "..nicely," I finish, as I once again climb on top of his great body.

"That's not fucking fair, you heartless bitch. You don't see me fucking lunging for your female parts," he growls at me from down below, causing a satisfied smirk to grow on my face as his voice is thick with pain.

"Everything is fair in love and war," I whisper tauntingly in his ear, the obvious satisfaction is not to be kept out of my voice. And Cato hits me across the cheek as his rightful revenge, as I yet haven't managed to restrain his hands. He doesn't use a fully knitted fist -he has though, many times before- but it is not far from. Then he rolls us around, now being very careful with keeping my legs in place, so I can't kick his manhood again.

"You're playing dirty, angel. Only the weak play dirty." I sincerely hope that thought comforts him as my fist hits his jaw. Even though I did aim for his nose, but Cato has always had amazing reflexes. It it still satisfying though, as he gives a low grunt of pain.

I grin tauntingly. "Oh, I'm sorry," I whisper. "Want me to kiss it better?" It earns me a growl from my easily angered man, and I can't quite stifle the growing smirk on my face.

But instead of striking back, Cato tenses on top of me, goes completely still, and just watches my face. Then he brushes some strayed hair behind my ear. "You look beautiful like this," he whispers, completely forgetting about the fact that I was just getting far beneath his skin. Judging by the look in his eyes, I know he will try something. And that something is not trying to beat the crap out of me, as he soon proceeds to hungrily attack my lips. And I don't protest, as I find my body responding to him with every amazing touch, but we are still somehow fighting, even as our lips are locked – struggling for dominance, which Cato -of course- wins, and battling to make the other give pleasurable sounds, which Cato wins again. Annoyance flows heavily through my veins.

We have to eventually break away to catch our breaths, as the devouring kiss doesn't leave much room for breathing. Cato is still on top, and looks down at me with a surprising tenderness, contrasting darkly to the way we were just hitting each other. "Don't fuck me like your whore," I tell him suddenly, quietly, knowing just what look that is on his face, and just where this is going. "Make love to me as your fiancee," I whisper, and that earns me a completely confused look from him. "I want to try it slow, once, before we die." I pause, the slightest. "We are going into the Arena together, Cato..." He opens his mouth to protest on my obvious statement that one of us will die, but I don't let him, and press my one finger to his lips instead. "Just pick me up, and make love to me," I instruct him, lowly.

And for the second time this evening; Cato obeys.

It is electrifying in every way – his touch sends shivers of great pleasure all through my body, and his kisses linger and tingles deliciously on my skin. It is slow, but not necessarily gently, as there is still a hint of our usual brute in our passionate actions. I thought I had discovered what passion was ages ago, but I clearly hadn't, as I know that this is the only thing that can truly be described as passionate.

Cato has obviously also discovered the desire too, as he is moving his body along with mine, creating a beautiful intense rhythm for our bodies to dance together to. When we move like this, and I can feel his every touch, hear his every muffled groan, see the pleasure, and lust which are so evident on his handsome face, I just know that this is only something for two people, perfectly created for each other, to experience together.

My whole body is already covered in marks of love-bites, and bruises, and hickeys, though he has been a little more careful than usual about where he places them, as we are going to be on live television tomorrow. Moans are clustering in my throat, and I force myself to not let them out. The effort takes a great lot, as the delicious feeling collecting in the pit of my stomach warms my whole body in a way which can only be described as fire. It feels so damn good, and I don't want him to stop. Ever. "Moan for me, angel," Cato demands in my ear, his teeth gracing my earlobe as he speaks, causing another rush of pleasure to tear my resolve apart. "I want to hear how good you've got it. Moan for me."

As if to demonstrate, Cato groans as our hips meet in that slow, steady rhythm, filling my body with a want which will make me go crazy if I don't get satisfied. But knowing Cato, he will have me shaking in screaming pleasure very soon. But I'm still stifling my moans, as a weak protest to his bossy arrogance. That doesn't settle well with my easily angered man, and determination obviously has a violent grip around him, as he starts to dive even deeper inside me with each thrust, and covers each one of all my soft spots with nibbles, bites, kisses, and his tongue. He gets his well-deserved moan.

And instead of forcing the moans back, and muffling them in each other's bodies, or the pillow when we hit climax, our lips join in a loving kiss. And in that moment, when we shake together in releasing pleasure, everything seems so perfect. I'm still not sure what to think about the idea of the so-called _proposal_, which really was a command, but I know that this must be the best sex I have ever had.

Cato's heavy weight crushes against me from where he still on top, and still inside of me. The pressure of his body feels so good against mine, and I reach up to curl my fingers into his dirty-blond, shaggy hair. "That was amazing," I whisper quietly in his ear. And he raises his head from where it is buried in my neck, and looks into my eyes. The look in his tells me he agrees, and he reaches up to kiss me slowly.

Then he rolls off me, and we both lay there for a while, stilling our ragged breaths – the silence is, yet again, comfortable. Eventually, I curl into him, and he slips the cover over our heads, creating a little sacred haven for us, and us only, under the blanket. He takes the hand which holds the ring, and brings it up to his lips. Kissing my hand, he looks calmly down at me, as if to convey that there is nothing to worry about, that everything will be fine. Then he sneaks his arms under me, pressing as close as I can come to him. "How come we never did this earlier?" he asks, with a small grin on his lips.

"You like to pound me on every possible surface, remember? You don't do slow."

He gives an amused grunt as an answer, and I make him push the covers down, as I feel claustrophobia slither around me. I rest my forehead on his cheek, and breathe in the heavenly smell of his skin. His smell is special – difficult to describe. But it is just as addicting as Cato is himself, and I try to memorize it the best I can, while I actually can.

"Tonight never happened," he growls suddenly.

And I can't do anything else than nod in agreement – understanding. This night has been the great evidence of our humanity, and we can't afford to be human in a place like the Arena. The Arena is a place for monsters – it is a place for Cato and I, though neither of us wants to share that experience with the other, knowing that only one of us will come out. "I know," I whisper quietly, knowing that Cato and Clove will soon return to the killers they are born to be.

I sigh. "I hate you, Cato," I whisper tenderly against his cheek, us both knowing it is true, but also that it means just the opposite.

"I hate you too, angel." And with that, we both settle for sleep, both being exhausted after this night's happenings. In a few hours, we both know we will have to get up, and ready ourselves to kill. But for now, we will be just Clove and Cato, and spend the last hours of our lives in each other's embrace.

…

"Get up!" An invasive voice drags me mercilessly out of my surprisingly peaceful dreams, and I know that voice will also -just as mercilessly- drag me out of my lover's arms. "Get your lazy asses out of bed! _Now!_" And as the cursing starts, I recognize the aggressive voice as Enobaria's, as Enobaria seems to have a bit of a bad mouth.

A growl erupts from Cato's chest where my head is resting, and the way the rumble shakes through his chest, makes my body shake as well. The sound though, seems to resound in my brain far after he is done. Neither Cato and I want to get up, as if that can prevent our fate from blooming so tragically in front of my eyes. "Go away," I mutter into Cato's chest, loud enough for Enobaria to hear. I'm starting to fear she will drag off the covers, as we are both naked underneath, and I doubt none of us three would appreciate that.

I think Cato is even less awake than I, and my suspicion is confirmed as I look up at him, and see him watching me through small, tired slits. But those narrowed eyes can also be because of the annoyance that is Enobaria. "It's a big day today, kiddos." And even through the haze that is my sleep, I still detect that grim, almost sarcastic tone in her voice. "You both need to prepare yourselves, and that means that you have to _get out off bed!_"

Neither Cato nor I can be considered as morning persons, and we are both pretty grumpy. But Cato grows into a real grouch when being awoken, especially when being awoken by someone yelling at him. "We'll get out off bed, when you get out off this room. Or you'll get to see much more than you want," he finishes, obviously having come to the same conclusion as me.

"Just get out off bed," she says, a defeated sigh of hers ringing through the air. Then she hurries out the door, leaving us with a startling realization of what day it is today: the day of the Games. Cato runs his finger down the hollow of my spine, making me shiver, and then starts to pry my hands -which are coiled around his chest- off him. It isn't the fact that he tries to get away from my grip which hurts, it is the harsh way he does it – like he can't get me off him fast enough.

"What?" I say lowly. "The day we're going into the Games, and you can't get rid off me fast enough?"

He looks down at me with a slightly annoyed frown on his forehead. "Last night never happened," he hisses. "It changes nothing, Clove. Don't expect me to become all cuddly with you, just because I want you to marry me."

And that angers me, because I didn't expect him to cuddle me, but still, does it hurt to just let me lay with him? To let me breathe in his heavenly smell for the last time, feel his arms radiating that comforting warmth around me, and see his handsome face being that beautifully peaceful it is when he holds me?

I eye the ring on my finger, and almost have to laugh of how insignificant it seems now. Last night, it meant something. It indicated something bigger than what I could comprehend, but last night never happened, and that indication disappeared along with Cato's rare gentleness. The ring is not a sign of love, in Cato's eyes it is only an assurance that I'm his – another way for him to prove his possessiveness to the world, and to me. To prove that he owns me, that I'm his pathetic property.

Nausea settles deep in the pit of my stomach as I suddenly come to think of how this day will degenerate into – maybe I will wind up dead? Brutally murdered in the worst way? In a split second, I'm afraid everything I ate last night will make its departure through my mouth, but when I have the chance to calm myself a little, I know I can hold it down.

Cato has been studying me all the while I have been occupied with my thoughts, and he looks grimly down at me when I finally decide to meet his gaze. "No tears," he insists dangerously. "You're a murderer, Clove. No fucking tears."

"I'm not gonna cry," I snap at him, angrily. In fact, I have no more tears left in my hollow body – the feeling of utter emptiness lingers from my sobbing last night. But I strive for that delicious feeling of Cato's warmth surging through me -caused by our one last passionate act of love last night- to be removed from my body. Because if he can turn off his emotions that easily, so can certainly I.

He snorts. "I can see that," he says arrogantly, and stands up from the bed. And that ice of his voice, and of his gaze, slowly rubs off on me. "You coming?" he asks, and heads toward the bathroom.

"As long as you don't go all cuddly on me," I retort icily, and stand up to follow him as he grunts as an answer. Cato has already turned the shower on when I arrive, and is standing under the heavy stream, massaging his neck with his one hand. I don't look up at to meet his searching gaze as I step in, I just can't bear to look at him right now.

The second I arrive the stream too, he grabs me by the waist, and presses his lips forcefully against mine. "The last time," he whispers against my wet skin. "I'm gonna make you remember it. I'm gonna fuck you so hard." And as his breath hits my skin, I can't help but shiver into his body, and let him lift me, surround me, and explore me in every way.

It feels so good – amazing even, but it is nothing compared to last night. Last night which didn't happen, after Cato's orders. But in the end, we both know this can't last, and we both know that we eventually have to detach from the other. We finish up quickly in the shower, knowing that Enobaria will soon come and drag us out of here herself, if we don't arrive soon.

I am the one to leave the shower first, striding out angrily, but Cato follows soon behind, grabbing my arm. "Why are you acting like this?" he asks, and the fact that he has the audacity to ask that, makes me want to punch him.

Laughing sarcastically in his face, I know I am angering him, but little do I care. "Why are _you _acting like this?" I ask. "Why don't you care that this is our last time together before the Arena? That this is the last time you can kiss me, and hold me, before one of us fucking dies?"

As I start to almost shout at him, his face grows grimmer, and turns dangerous. The evil glint reaches his eyes just after I realizes what he is about to do, and I realize it way to slow, as his hand is already wrapped around my throat. "Why doesn't my promise mean anything to _you_?" he growls, but his growl isn't just one of utter danger, but also of frustration. "I gave you a fucking ring, Clove. To prove to you that I want you, and that I'll get us both out alive. Why do you have to be so fucking insecure that you don't realize that?"

He eases the pressure on my neck, but doesn't let go. "Let fucking go," I tell him through clenched teeth, clawing at his hands, and digging my nails into them. He hisses at me as my nails pierce his skin, and lets go. "I'm not insecure," I tell him. "I'm not just as naïve as you."

"Oh, little girl," he drawls tauntingly, getting into my face. "You're the one who is being naïve."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I almost scream in his face. "Stop it, Cato. Fucking stop it," I yell, fighting the urge to cover my ears with my hands like the little girl Cato is convinced I am. "Stop talking, you're only making things worse."

"What things?" he asks threateningly, and takes a step forward. "The fact that you're too _insecure _to believe you're beautiful? The fact that you're having these random attacks, where you get all panicky? The fact that you're too damn broken to love? Or the fact that your stylist had his hands all over you, but you were too scared, too _weak _to fight back?" His words are angering me beyond the imaginable, but yet, that is not the main focus of mine now, as nausea has yet again settled. "What things?" he insists.

"Cato, I'm gonna.." My attempt at holding is failing remarkably, and I tear out of Cato's grasp, before I land heavily before the toilet. Cato curses lowly as he sees me throwing up, and I can feel his gaze lingering on my naked back, as my stomach yet again turns inside out.

"Damn it, Clove. You can't be getting sick, not fucking now," he curses me, as if I can control the fact that I'm throwing up. "Why?" he asks, his voice piercing my brain in that annoying way only he can. "Why are you throwing up?"

"As if I'm supposed to know that," I manage to get out through my choked gasps brought by the lack of air which the puking caused. My stomach has eventually emptied itself, and I feel Cato's gaze burning holes in my, almost demanding me to stand up to face him.

"Clove..." Cato begins in a dangerous voice.

"No," I interrupt, swatting away the hand he lays on my arm, and glaring at him the slightest. I'm mad at him, I have decided, and I don't want his warmth to comfort me. Because the fire of my fury, and Cato's warmth always evolves into a big inferno when united. And I don't like fire. In fact, I absolutely _hate _fire – the bitch on fire even more. "Go get dressed, Cato," I tell him, trying to insist with my gaze. "Just go, and I'll be with you soon."

He doesn't seem to know what to say, and instead of voicing any of those curses his expression tells me he holds, he simply grabs a small towel from where it hangs on the wall, and walks out of the bathroom. The slam of the door resounds long after he is gone, bouncing into my body as taunting stabs of anger, irritation, and hurt.

"Fuck him," I mutter under my breath, reaching out to grab my toothbrush, to get this awful taste out off my mouth. "Fucking fuck everything," I mumble with the toothbrush in my mouth, making my words incomprehensible for anyone who isn't myself.

Not bothering to dress in something nice, really not bothering to dress in something decent at all, I just throw on a small pair of shorts, and a thin sweater. Because I will get my own outfit to wear in the Arena, so it really doesn't matter what I wear before I get beneath it. With some reluctance, I drag myself out of my room, only to turn sharply as I remember the thing buried in the shelf of the nightstand. The silly little necklace I had made for Cato – I stuff it in my pocket, knowing he will need something to remember me by when I'm dead. It will make him remember the powerful duo which is Cato and Clove.

It will be a reminder of how he is a monster of the worst sort, but still not _only _a monster – he is a human boy in love with a small, temperamental girl. It will remind him that he is mine, and I am his, even in death.

Then, with a last glance of the bed where Cato presented his command, where Cato 'proposed', I make my way out, knowing that bed is the last place I truly felt safe. Outside of the room, I find Cato resting against the wall beside the door, waiting for me. As I emerge, he reaches out to wrap his arm around my waist, and brings me closer, before bending down to press his lips against my temple. Guiding me forward by pressing his hand into my side, we both start to walk slowly, as right now, we have the privacy of the small hallway. With a slight hesitation, I lean gratefully into him, suddenly enveloped by his comforting warmth.

I'm not nauseous anymore.

He doesn't let go off me, and if that has something to do with what I asked earlier, I don't know. But it really soothes my nerves, as he even doesn't let go when Enobaria appears, and pierces us with her stern glare. "Finally!" she exclaims, and pretends she doesn't see Cato's arm wrapped around me.

Enobaria informs us that we will be eating breakfast on the hovercraft, and we have no other choice but follow her. She stuffs us into a room, and tells us, "Say your goodbyes, and I'll keep people away. Five minutes." With that, she disappears.

I stiffen completely in my man's arms, as I realize that this is my last opportunity ever to feel his lips on mine, to feel his arms around me, and to feel his comforting and surrounding warmth. Then I do something my pride really shouldn't handle; I bury my head in his chest, and coil my arms around his waist, clenching my fist around the fabric of the back of his t-shirt. My pride has handled worse, or been weakened maybe is the right term for it, but right now is not the time to nurse a wounded pride.

Cato hesitates slightly, before snaking his arms around me, holding me tight to his chest. We stand there for quite a while, in each other's embrace, just feeling the other's heartbeat. But the fact that we only get five minutes to say goodbye, that I only have five minutes to say everything I have no words for, five minutes to say what I'm not allowed, is a gnawing reminder in the back of my mind. "I hate you," I whisper softly into his chest, the sound muffled by his muscles, and t-shirt. Everything about this morning is forgotten, but last night, which really should be, isn't.

"I hate you, too, angel," he answers, and I bury my face even deeper in his chest, breathing in his heavenly scent properly for one last time before we are torn apart.

Silently, I look up to search his face, my arms refusing to leave from around him. "I've got something for you," I say coldly after a while, and detach myself from him for a small moment to get the necklace out of my pocket. "You'll wear it as your token." He isn't the only one who can make commandos.

He accepts it with that unreadable expression on his face, twirling it around between his fingers while studying it intensely, and asks simply, "Why?"

"Because it will remind you of me," I answer just as simply back.

"C+C." He smirks and unbelievably soft smirk. "You've become awfully cute," he remarks sarcastically, but not without that faintly amused smirk on his lips.

I snort quietly. "I'm not _cute_, I'm deadly, remember?"

He doesn't answer, and brings his hands up to tangle in my hair, at the same time cupping my head, his thumbs resting on my temples. Laying his forehead against mine, I can't help but notice the hollow look in his eyes. Cato brushes his one hand down my arm, and entwines the hand which holds the ring, with his. "Remember the promise, angel," he says, rubbing his thumb over the gold band of the ring. "Trust me."

The clear blue in his eyes convinces me, if it is only in this moment when I can feel his warmth, and see his blue eyes. But I believe him, I trust him, and I need him to keep his promise. We both need him to keep his promise, so we can go home, and so we can get married. And maybe, maybe I will convince him, maybe I will change his mind, like he is now convincing me, about having a baby – a little smirking, sarcastic, blue-eyed killing machine, which is half Cato, and half me.

I nod silently – a quiet confirmation of the fact that I trust him, that I have always trusted him. "I need you to keep that promise," I whisper. "I need us both to go home, Cato."

Someone has come into the room, but neither of us lets go, and neither of us really cares to check who it is. "We need to leave now, Clove," Enobaria says as gently as I have ever heard her.

Cato ignores her, and continues our conversation, our goodbye. "We'll go home," he whispers back as my frail assurance. "We'll go home, and I'll marry you, and you'll be mine forever." His whisper is so low that I can barely catch his words, but I don't need to hear them to understand, I can feel them.

"Promise?" I whisper, ashamed to hear my voice choked. Panic is clawing at my insides, and I strive for it not to claw its way free. I need to do this, I need to say goodbye, and that means we can't leave now. If anyone dares try pull us apart, I will personally poke their eyeballs out.

Cato nods against my forehead, causing my head to bob slightly with his. "I promise," he whispers. "Have I ever lied to you?"

I shake my head. He never has. "No," I tell him.

"We need to leave," Enobaria's voice is like an intruder breaking into my home, and in that moment I really have to fight myself to not lunge at her. The only reason I manage is knowing that if I lash out for her again, I will have to leave Cato's arms, and that is something I'm not willing to do.

Clenching my fists around the fabric of his shirt, I hold on to him, making it hard for them to tear us apart. Cato brings our faces together, and our lips join in a soft kiss of goodbye. Someone -I strongly suspect it is Enobaria- lays a hand on my shoulder, as if to guide me away from him. My reaction to that unfamiliar touch, is seeking the familiarity in my man, and in our kiss. "You need to let go now, angel," he murmurs against my lips, and I find myself wondering if the softness is there to help me understand.

"No," I whisper, clasping my hands firmly around his t-shirt, and clinging to him. "Cato," I whisper, my voice sounding like the heartbroken whine of a child. The unfamiliar hand on my shoulder grows firmer, and I know she will soon drag me out of here, kicking and screaming, if I don't part willingly.

"Clove," Cato murmurs. "I'll never let you go, you hear me? This is only temporarily, angel. You need to let go of me for just now." His words make me want to cry, but for the sake of myself, I know I have to hold it in. No Career has ever cried on the day of the Games, rather jumped around of joy. "Don't cry." Cato's voice has turned cold again, and he strictly forbidding any crying from me now. "No fucking tears, Clove."

That little spark of anger he fires in me, makes the determination to let go off him settle in my body. Slowly, I detach my clenched fists, and brush my mouth against his, one last heavenly, and utterly painful time, before taking a step back. "I'll see ya soon, angel," Cato says, giving me a grin of encouragement.

With a nod, I memorize the last pieces of him – his heavenly smell, his muscular body, his handsome face, his dirty-blond hair, and his clear, blue eyes. Just in case something will happen to him during the bloodbath. Just in case I will never see him again. Then, with a wavering determination, I let Enobaria turn me, and guide me toward the exit.

Sudden fear settles in me, and I'm afraid I will forget last night. Last night which didn't happen, but in reality was when he proposed. Last night when everything was perfect, and I felt every fiber of his being against mine. Last night when he was everywhere, and I couldn't get enough, and he was kissing me with such burning passion. Such fire of passion, which I wanted to collect in my heart and carry with me forever. But now, with every step I take toward the door, and with every step I take away from Cato, the room is getting colder, and there is no fire of passion left for me to remember. Everything is being wiped out by the terrible cold – all because Cato isn't here to keep me warm.

"Cato!" I cry suddenly, surprising everyone in the room – even myself. Whirling around with the quick movements of someone who has been trained since she could walk, I leap for my man, and he walks steadily toward my fast body to catch me as I land in his arms. With the same passion of last night, I crush my mouth against his, forcing his mouth open with my own. And in that kiss, I could have lived forever. Screw oxygen, that kiss is air enough. "I love you," I whisper in the heat of our lips meeting. My gaze finds his in one last desperate look of love, and hate, and passion, and lust – of everything cruel, and delicious at the same time. And I store that look of utter admiration on his face in my mind forever.

"I love you, too," he whispers quietly against my lips, causing a new kind of warmth to flood through my veins. And I have no idea for how long this heavenly, hungry kiss lasts, but I can feel the protests of the other people in the room. But by now, both Cato and I are far into the world of passion, and pleasure to even acknowledge their presence.

Eventually though, I can feel myself being lowered to the ground by Cato, but he still doesn't break away from the kiss. And I know as soon as our kiss detach, as soon as we break away for air, that they will grab each one of us and force us through that door. And they will probably tear us from each other's lips if we don't end it ourselves.

Then we both seem to know we have to separate, that we have to break apart, and we both do it synchronously, with similar sighs on our lips which won't be let out. Now, at least, I can remember the fire – our fire. The one which I hate, because we scream, but the one which I love, because we murmur. And with such a love, hate relationship, I'm not sure if I love it, or hate it more. If I love Cato, or hate Cato more.

_Love. _Definitely love.

Cato brushes his hand down my arm, and once again entwines my ringed hand with his. "Remember," he whispers, and drags his thumb over the band of the ring. Then he lets go off my hand too, and we aren't touching anymore. Enobaria once again grabs a hold of my shoulder, digging her nails into my flesh as her grip is much firmer than the first grasp.

Cato is being led the opposite way by my father, and we both wear our masks of stone, as we steal one last glance of the other, before being pushed through our separate exits. It makes the breath go out of my lungs, and the warmth of him disappear. Everything is cold, and cruel, and mean, and I want to be back in the bed from last night which never existed.

I don't turn to face Enobaria, knowing she is still there by the hand lingering on my shoulder. It is like she is convinced that once she lets go, I will run the fastest I can to get back to Cato. "You must think I'm weak," I mutter lowly to her, not daring to steal a gaze – judgment will surely be found there.

"Not weak," she says slowly. "Only in love." Her voice has strayed from its usual authority, and it is left as the soft voice of a mother. "Love doesn't necessarily mean weakness, you know. It's bullshit what you learn in that Center. Love may make you blind, and that is when your vulnerable, and find yourself weak. But if you don't let yourself get blinded, it might even make you stronger."

"Who taught you that?" I ask.

She removes her hand from my shoulder, as if she has suddenly decided I won't run – still, the temptation is there. "None other than myself," she says. "Wisdom comes with age you see. You'll discover it someday."

I'm about to nod in agreement when her words actually sink in, and stop dead in my tracks. "I will...discover it someday?" The crazy urge to laugh becomes stronger, and I can barely contain myself. "I think someday may never come," I tell her as I start walking again, the depressive tone in my voice leaving no confusion about what I'm actually talking about.

"Have you seen the expression on that boy's face whenever he looks at you?" she asks, incredulous. "He doesn't give a fuck about what has been drilled into his brain since his brain started fucking functioning, as long as you're in danger, he will do anything to protect you. Trust me, that boy will die for you, he'll do anything to get you home." She looks down at me, and she is obviously not pleased with what she finds on my face, as a frown makes deep creases on her forehead. "And judging by that look, so will you."

I snap my head back to watch where I'm going, as we are walking into a rather dark patch. The shake of my head makes my hair fall into my eyes, and I brush it irritatedly away with my hand. Now it is Enobaria's turn to stop dead in her tracks, and I watch her in wonder as her eyes widen. She grabs my wrists, and holds my hand up before her eyes, or rather the ring. "Wow, you guys are really serious, aren't you?" she asks.

I tear my hand out of her grasp. "None of your business," I tell her.

"Of course it is, you're my tribute, and anything that concerns you while you're still my tribute, concerns me."

"It's just a ring, okay?" I tell her, not happy my mentor is prying this badly. I haven't made up my mind if I like Enobaria, or not yet. On one side, she did try to strangle me, and she pretty much cussed me out, but on the other side, she is smart, and a tough, and I decide that I like her. If she stops pestering me about the ring, that is.

"Just a ring my ass," she says, and sometimes I swear she uses more crude language than me and Cato combined. "It's clearly an engagement ring."

"No comment," I tell her, wishing she would just lay off.

"We all heard you last night, you know. You guys aren't exactly quiet when jumping each other's bones." And I once again stop dead in my tracks, having to actually see her face to believe what she is saying.

"What?" I exclaim.

She sees my horrified expression, and shakes her head curtly, an almost amused smile playing on her lips. "Never mind," she says, and opens a door leading to outside where a hovercraft is placed. She pushes me outside rather roughly, and I stumble out the door. The sight of the large hovercraft before me makes my body stiffen, and my mind hesitate. "Hesitation makes no victor," Enobaria says from behind me, walking to stand at my side.

With an icy look of coldness in my eyes, I glare at her. "Neither does love," I tell her, bitterness obvious in my voice.

"You're right," Enobaria says. "In the Arena, to be able to survive, you have to shut out every emotion, and let only your lust for blood control you." Her expression holds the wisdom she has gained with age, and experience, and surprisingly lacks that powerful authority, which is enough to scare me. "You can't win, and love Cato at the same time. Choose wisely."

I nod – already knowing that fact for sure. "Any last piece of advice?" I ask, not striving to hold my cold mask anymore, as the mask as grown to be my very face.

"It's simple," Enobaria says. "Either kill, or be killed."


	16. When Murder Is Pride

16.

When Murder Is Pride

The judgmental accomplishment;

When murder is pride

The sharpest swords

The unsaid words

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><p>"<em>Fear and panic in the air. I want to be free from desolation and despair. And I feel like everything I sow is being swept away. Well, I refuse to let you go." Map of Problematique, Muse<em>

* * *

><p>My arm is still stinging from the tracker device they forced into my body by shoving a fucking needle into my skin. And the feeling of having something stuck under my skin which the sting causes, and the hollow of my empty stomach, has made nausea haunt me again. Even though the urge to throw up is there, I still don't have anything to actually throw up. The nerves are eating at my insides – nibbling on my brain, and taking mouthfuls of my heart.<p>

Ara is watching me as I force myself to eat, knowing I will need the energy. "You need to change," she informs me, and hands me a outfit consisting of a light green blouse, and tawny pants. Every tribute will wear the same, and that even includes the same undergarments. I scoff as I realize I will have to strip down completely.

My skin is covered in bruises, and hickeys from last night, I realize with a sudden start. And I sincerely hope Ara doesn't notice it, as I don't want to explain myself. If she notices, she doesn't say anything. When I'm dressed, she orders me to sit down so she can do my hair, and I let her. Even though I'm going into the Arena, and not a fucking beauty pageant. The silence between Ara and me is tense, but I have seen her open her mouth numerous times, as if to say something, to only close it seconds later, as if she changed her mind.

When she is finished, I get up on my feet -being far too restless to sit still- and make my way to the bathroom. The bathroom isn't too big, but it still holds a rather large mirror, covering the whole wall. The green of my eyes isn't strikingly green, and the usually so vivid color is washed out by fear. My face has grown ice cold, as it embraced the mask I wore earlier with arms wide open. It is odd, to see my face this devoid of anything humanly – my mind has finally realized where I'm going, and my survival instinct are kicking in. My heart though, refuses to acknowledge that fact. It doesn't want to bleed anymore.

Despite what I always thought I would be when going into the arena – happy, excited, calm, I find my hands shaking the slightest in hiding nerves. But this is what I'm trained for, what I'm born for: It sits naturally in every fiber of my body. It should, at least.

The ring shines a bloody crimson red, as I push a strayed lock of hair behind my ear, and I can't help but just stop and stare blatantly at it. He gave it to me as a promise – a promise he can't keep, but the ring also means something more. It is -after all- an engagement ring, and Cato does love me, even if it is in his own sick, twisted, overly-possessive, and controlling way. He loves me, and wants to marry me. The thought brings a dash of humanity on the face of the girl in the mirror before me, the one which really is a monster hidden delicately in that girl's body.

But my face soon grows harsh, and cruel, as I know he won't be able to keep his promise. And that means he won't be able to marry me, and we won't have any murderous kids, or a house in the Victor's Village. We won't have anything but an empty promise, death, and heartbreak for whomever survives.

Desperation is trying to push the thoughts out of my mind, but desperation isn't a powerful emotion, in fact, it makes you quite powerless. It is numbing, and sets the mind into a state of confusion, and misunderstanding. But even if it is just a dumb emotion, even if it is just desperation, it still might be the one emotion that calls for the shadow slowly forming beside me. I can see it so clearly in the corner of my eye, and I don't dare to turn to see what form the shadow takes. I don't want to see it.

Even though I'm facing the mirror, I still can't see the reflection, as the shadow simply doesn't have a reflection. My hands are starting to shake, and it makes me so sick that _he _is coming back to haunt me. But then, as I'm about to clasp my hands over my ears, close my eyes shut, and pretend the shadow isn't there, I hear a beautifully familiar melody – someone is singing, and I know both who, and the song.

"Leon," I whisper, my breath ragged as I turn to look at my deceased brother. He is there. I can see him standing right before me, looking as healthy and alive as the time I saw him before he hung on our front door, pierced by the heart. Clamping my hand over my mouth, I prevent a gasp from escaping. He is _dead. _He is _fucking dead. _But yet that simple, seemingly unimportant fact, doesn't seem to matter in this situation.

My brother doesn't say anything, he only continues to sing. He sung that song to me when I was little and my father had beaten me, and he was taking care of the cuts, and the bruises. He sung that song whenever he put me to bed, and sat by my bedside until I fell asleep just to make sure I actually slept. He sung that song to me to calm me down whenever my rage would reach its limits, and he would keep me in his arms to prevent me from destroying both my room, and myself.

He sung that song to me the day after his funeral as I visited his grave, and I had silently said goodbye to his ghost. And surprisingly enough; it hadn't been scary to see my dead brother materialize before me. He had sung that song, and it had been the frail comfort I needed.

All I can do is stare – expecting the illusion to go away any minute, and it does eventually. My brother smiles at me, a smile of assurance, and kindness, and everything Leon is, and which I am not. Then he disappears, but the song, the lullaby still sounds through the room, and I find myself humming along. The song calms my nerves, and for once I'm thankful for my vivid imagination, which for once made things better, rather than worse.

It suddenly hits me that this will be the last time ever I will get to observe my face in the mirror – criticizing, loathing, hating. This will be the last time I see my green eyes staring back at me, and for that, I'm actually quite grateful. With one last look, my eyes searching my cold, and determined face once more, I walk out to meet Ara. She sits on the sofa, exactly where she sat last time I saw her. "You should drink some more," she suggests lowly, gesturing toward the water bottles on the table before her, which is also covered with a lot of other delicious food. Food which I would love to stuff myself with if I hadn't been so damn nervous.

My hands tingle in excitement as I reach for the bottle, because even though I'm going in with Cato, I'm still going into the Arena, and that has been my dream all along, hasn't it? Then I have an excuse to be my murderous self. Not that I need any excuse, but at least I won't get punished for killing someone, as I have been back home.

Eventually some sort of mechanical voice in a speaker announces it is time for launch, and my breaths become shallow. Forcing myself to breathe calmly, I walk steadily to the metal plate. Ara follows behind me, and looks at me with an utterly serious expression on her otherwise so playful face. It makes her look a lot older – the seriousness is smothering her youth. "I think you can win this, Clove," she says, as if that will be the assurance I need. It is not.

"You think?" I mock the slightest. "I _know _I'll win."

Ara sighs. "You don't have to do that confident act with me, you know."

A smirk grows on my face. "Who said it was an act?" Even though it kind of is, as I know I won't get out of here alive. But I can't resist the temptation of acting like the careless, arrogant and confident Clove Cavia one last time.

Then a cylinder cage of glass lowers around me, and I fight the feeling of claustrophobia from consuming my already nervous being. Ara nods, still serious, as a goodbye, and I nod back. Emotions are swirling through me, shocking my body with electric stabs of dark, but exciting feelings here and there. One of those emotions are panic as everything goes black, but then the world eventually lightens as I'm pushed into the open. I'm instantly blinded by the furious sun light, and my eyes take their time to adjust from being in the utter dark, to the shining sun.

The Arena looks just like the forest back home, and I find myself almost expecting to find a red, ramshackle barn here too. The one which Cato and I met by when I was ten, and he was twelve. But there isn't any barn where I expect it to be beside the lake, because that lake is just like the one back home. A violent wave of homesickness engulfs me, and threatens to drown me in helplessness. But I don't give into them, and keep my head above the water, as I know I need to focus.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"

The comfort that is Leon's lullaby, and which is still singing in every corner of my mind, can't comfort me anymore, as I need to push every thought of humanity aside, to kill, to be the monster I really am. Because murder is pride, after all. When the thought of murder has made the song deafen enough for me to think clearly, I search the other metal plates for my potential preys. They all look so damn terrified.

My eyes focus on the Cornucopia, and the supplies in it. I know there is a set of knives here it always is. Narrowed, my eyes search the flat landscape for any knives which may lay clustered on the ground, so I can begin my killing even before I have reached the Cornucopia.

A sudden shine gets my attention, and I can see all the way from where I'm standing on my metal plate, that those are the knives I have been looking for all along. A vague smile curls my mouth upward in a grimace of blood-thirst, and sadism, and fear. The knives aren't inside the Cornucopia, but lays a meter or two before it.

I'm fast. I can reach them before anyone else does – I'm just like my mother. And I'm not only fast, I'm flexible, and agile, too. I can beat any of these wimps in a couple of seconds, and they won't even know what hit them. They won't even know they are dead before they are, and my knife will kill them immediately, because it is sharp, and so am I.

My eyes search the tributes quick, and they linger on Cato, whom I can see the clear blue eyes of, even though he is standing almost furthest away from me. He grins, I'm sure of it, and I know exactly what he is thinking: _Kill, Clove. Kill, enjoy, kill. _I don't grin back, as my grin does not look intimidating like his. My grin looks like any other grin – teasing indeed, but nothing more than a simple, empty grin. But then my eyes find Katniss, and I know instantly that she will be my target. No bitch on fire outshines me.

The bong will soon ring through the Arena, through the forest, and resound inside of every tribute on top of the metal plates. And I'm ready, I know. I'm trained, I'm ready, I'm murderous. My gaze is steadily trailed on the knives I will soon claim as mine, and I'm already picturing how the silver blade will fly through the air, and pierce one of my unfortunate preys. I can almost feel the handle -light, easy- in my hand, and I clench my fists softly as I might have done if an actual knife had been there.

Stabs of pain feels like needles in my body as I feel the ring on my finger, and the pain comes of the crawling truth, which is death. But that fear makes me even more determined, for some reason unknown. And I know I will have to overcome that fear, even though I will die, if I do, or don't.

Then the bong rings. And I was right; the sound certainly bounces inside my body, in my brain. It startles me off the metal plate, and I'm the first of everyone to leap off of it with not so surprising agility. It surprises no one, as I'm of District 2 – _Career._

I reach my knives, and hastily grab them, before running in the direction of Katniss. She is a fool, I realize, a stupid little lamb, as she has stopped to get her hands on some supplies, which could have saved her life. Being she got out from the bloodbath alive, that is. The thought brings an evil smirk on my face. She is battling with a boy about a bright backpack, and I fling my knife into the boy's back while I run full speed toward her, just to give her the greatest scare. A growl of a laugh escapes me, as I see the boy cough up blood, and the look of utter horror on Katniss' face as the blood splutters all over her.

Caught in shock, she is just standing there. But as I near her she eventually realizes death is close, and tries to speed away. I'm still pretty far away from her, and she runs much faster than anticipated. It is good, then, that I can throw my knife much further away. But as I throw my knife, and watch it fly steadily toward her pretty little head, she dodges it with the back pack. I have clearly underestimated the brains of this bitch, and a mean, taunting fire lightens my whole being in fury as the knife lodges itself into the pack. Not only did she not die, she also got one of my knives.

A feral snarl of utter frustration, and furious anger escapes my lips. I want to pursue her, and let her watch as I take my knife back, and shove it in her throat, or somewhere else. But I know that won't be smart of me – one unwise step means death in this place. And I don't want to die. Instead of following her, I whirl angrily, the air around me suddenly tasting blood, and fury, and death. It is satisfying, and infuriating at the same time.

The way back to the Cornucopia, to the bloodbath, is filled with screams, and blood, and death, and even more blood. It is funny really, how the weaklings fall that easily. Poke them with a straw, and death embraces them in a welcome. I soon join the poking too, but with knives as my method, because I prefer it that way. A small, blonde falls to the ground like a wasted rag doll, as I pull out the knife I plunged deep into her stomach. Another tribute receives a knife in his throat, blood instantly streaming from the deep wound. He is dead before he even reaches the ground.

The flat part of the landscape which the Cornucopia stands on, and which the bloodbath is fought on, has certainly turned into a bloodbath. Blood is painting the ground red, and the crimson blood smells familiarly rusty – coppery.

I spot a sight which sickens me, and that sight is loverboy, because he is such a thief, stealing what is mine. And I need my revenge – both on him, and fire girl. That is when pounce on loverboy, who doesn't even make a move to flee. I find it quite strange, but maybe he has a death wish? Pinning him beneath me, I press a knife up to his throat, and snarl at him, "Got a death wish, _loverboy_?" He looks afraid, and at that I smirk satisfied, but it is really not that surprising as little Clove Cavia is quite intimidating when she wants to be.

"Don't," he starts to plead, making me smirk in satisfaction, and huff in annoyance. "I can help you," he hastily says, panic growing evident in his eyes as my knife bores deeper into his neck.

My mean, crazy laughter seems to startle him, and that makes me laugh even more. "I would like to see that happen," I drawl in a mocking voice, sticky with sugar. My knife follows the fine line of his firm jaw, gently piercing the skin.

"I'll lead you to Katniss," he says, and my ears sharpen in surprise at his words.

"I'm listening," I growl at him, not pleased to see the relief blooming in his eyes, as he has nothing to be relieved of. As if me listening to his pathetic words will spare is even more pathetic life.

"I know her," he says desperately. "I know where she would go. I can lead you to her," he repeats, and I find myself strangely tempted by the thought. It will certainly ruin the whole star-crossed lovers thing they have got going on – I knew all along it was fake. Only a show for the citizens of the Capitol. And now he betrays her, so that maybe he will be spared. Foolish boy, he should have ran while he had the chance, as when you are in the claws of Cato and Clove, there is no way you are getting out.

Loverboy's eyes are scared, and blue (just as Cato's, but Cato's are bluer, much clearer, and much more beautiful in general) and he seems so sincere. He is just a little kid, scared of death. The thought makes me smirk, and I love how he is betraying bitch on fire. She fucking deserves it, taking my knife and all. And in that moment, I make my decision: I want him in the Career pack. When we find fire girl, I will make him watch while I rip her intestines out. It will be so much fun.

I get off him, having no desire to be close to him if I'm not going to kill him. He shakily stands up, and I look around, noticing the bloodbath has died down completely. Cato watches me with eyes narrowed into tiny mean slits as he sees me approach with the one boy we both have sworn to hate. Even though I want loverboy in, it does not mean that he will be accepted, as Cato is the self-appointed leader. And even though I'm good at sweet-talking Cato (and by sweet-talking I mean promising sexual favors, and threatening) I still can't change his mind once it is set. My man is stubborn like that.

"What do we have here, _Clove_?" Cato spits at me, and gives me a look of pure arrogance, and superiority. One which I choose to shoot right back at him, but also with annoyance on my face, as I know Cato will use every chance he gets to make decisions and probably not hear what the others of the pack has to say. But then again, if Cato is to listen to someone who isn't the arrogant voice in his head, it will be me.

My face is cold as I look up at him, but I know he sees the taunting spark in my eyes. And I know how that annoys him so, which is the exact reason it is there in the first place. Because if I make this into on of our pointless competition, I might as well win. Our other allies are starting to come over too, and stands beside Cato, almost ganging up on me and loverboy. Every other Career is taller than me, by far, but I refuse to shrink back just because of that simple fact. "He'll lead us to fire girl," I say. My voice is a feral growl, as if to keep them back. I do not appreciate them towering above me like this.

Marvel heaves his eyebrows, almost simultaneously as Cato's glare burns brighter, while Kara crosses her arms over her chest, and Glimmer's forehead turns into a frown. "And how do you know that he won't just lead us astray?" Kara's sugary voice sounds through me like annoying stabs of irritation, and annoyance, and everything Kara is. She snorts delicately, causing me to glare a violent glare at her.

"No," Cato growls. And if he is growling at Kara, or if he is growling at me, I don't know. Probably at me, though, as his glare is steadily traced on my face. "We can't trust him. Just kill him, and we'll go collect our supplies."

I want to punch him straight in his pretty face. Why can't he see that this is a smart move? We don't need to trust him, if we threat him enough, he won't dare do anything but obey. Surprisingly enough, Marvel is the one who speaks up, "Wait." Cato turns his more than intimidating glare at the smaller boy, and even though we all seem to know that Cato scares him, he is wise enough to not show it. "She might have a point," he says, and glances at me, at which I give an appreciative nod for his agreement, before he looks back at Cato. "He obviously knows Katniss, maybe even her strategy, I say we let him stay."

Cato takes a threatening step toward Marvel, as if that will change his mind. And it is Glimmer who steps between them, as Marvel does not exactly take a step back either. She surprises me, as she seems too _sweet _and _innocent _to be brave enough to stand between to angered boys. "I agree with Clove, and Marvel," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. She seems almost bored, and that ice queen persona she has got going on makes me almost want to laugh, as it is so far from that girl who told me she had a child as possible. "I think he is valuable enough."

Cato whirls furiously to glare at me, before taking a couple steps in my direction. And I realize -as his violent gaze isn't trailed on me, but on loverboy- that he is after him, rather than me. I step quickly aside to prevent Cato from brushing past me rather violently. His hand is wrapped around loverboy's throat before my gaze has found my violent man, and his prisoner. "You will lead us straight to her, we clear? No funny business, no bullshit. If you even think about something I won't like, you're dead, you hear me?" All loverboy can do, is nod, as he frantically claws at Cato's hand. "Good," Cato sneers, and lets go off him. Cato gives me one last accusing glare, which tells me I will pay for this later, before stalking off toward the Cornucopia.

Loverboy falls to the blood-covered ground, and a grin only a savage worthy reaches my lips. I walk happily after Cato, knowing that this time, I won. Everybody else seem to know it too, and it annoys me greatly that I wouldn't have been internally celebrating my small victory now, if it hadn't been for Marvel and Glimmer.

It is funny how Cato's anger, and frustration is visible in the way he walks, and the way he hunches his broad back. It is familiar too, and usually about now would be when I make him calm down. Because usually we are at the Training Center when he gets pissed, and that is when we need to stay the most composed. No emotion, unless anger _if _you are training. If anger is showed anywhere else, at anytime, that leads to punishment, as we are supposed to convey nothing, and nothing at all. We are murderers after all, and composure is expected. But I don't need to calm him now, as anger will simply benefit him here in the Arena.

We reach the Cornucopia, and my eyes practically bulge out of their sockets as I see the wide assortment of knives – every size, and form possibly wanted. "Don't get too excited, little girl," Cato growls tauntingly. "You might cut yourself." And for some mean reason, that angers me madly. It angers me because that was exactly what he taunted me about when we met.

And it says a lot about how familiar we are with one another, how well we know the the other, as we both seem to know that I will fling my knife at him, before the thought has even popped in my mind. He ducks just in time, and it flies right above him, and almost slices Marvel's ear cleanly off on its way out of the Cornucopia. "Whoa!" he almost shouts as he jumps startled out of the way, wearing a terrified grimace. He looks at me to see if it was intended, but I just turn my glare back at Cato.

He grins a terrifying grin, of sadism, of lust, of taunt, of everything cruel, and of everything not. And it makes him so utterly scary, and chills runs down my spine, because I love that expression more than anything. That, and his clear, blue, ice cold eyes. "You missed," he remarks, meanly. Grinning in satisfaction, as he has risen from his hunched posture, and is now hovering above me yet again.

"Fuck off," I tell him simply, indifferently, like it doesn't matter, and walk to retrieve my strayed knife. I can feel all their eyes on me as I walk my walk, or maybe it is just the eyes of Panem? Either way, I feel the stares weighing on me, and it causes another type of chills to run down my spine. To be scrutinized under the gaze of a million citizens is remarkable worse than the check-ups back home which I used to dread with my whole being. The thought of anyone who isn't Cato, analyzing me, my body, my skills, makes me angry, and confused. Because what will they think? I mean, I can barely make out what Cato thinks, and that bastard loves me, so he is excused.

We are eventually set to leave, all carrying what they see as their prized possessions. Marvel holds a couple of spears, Cato has got a knife, some spears, and numerous of swords, Glimmer holds a slender sword, and a bow, Kara has a couple of daggers, and a trident – classic District 4. And then there is me who has stuffed as many knives in my jacket, and belt as it would allow me, which is practically every knife there is to be found in this Arena. Except the one Cato's got, and that bitch on fire. Loverboy has a simple spear, and he fiddles with it nervously, like he doesn't know what to do with it.

I learn that Jordan has been killed during the bloodbath, something which upsets Kara, and makes Cato grin madly. It lingers in the air between us all that Cato was the one to steal his life, but no one except Cato and my very self knows the reason why: Jordan's slight flirting with me.

Not that we leave that far, as we set our camp outside of the Cornucopia, near the lake, where there aren't that much blood. As we get nearer the lake, and further away from the Cornucopia, the hovercraft comes to life above us, picking up the pathetic rests of the dead tributes. Somewhere, I realize, there are people weeping for those dead ones: fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, friends, and compassionate souls. My soul is quite the opposite though; as indifferent as they come. That makes me a monster, I know. Indifference has me not caring.

The cannons start to sound through the Arena. _One, two...eleven. _Both Cato and I grin and laugh in triumph, as it is rare that the death count is so high after only the bloodbath. Marvel gives a grin too, along with Kara, while Glimmer and loverboy are the ones to stay mute, and monotone. Too bad they can't appreciate it.

There is a tense silence as we organize the supplies – nervousness of being targeted, I guess. But I'm not that cowardly that I cheat on our alliance and try to kill them in their sleep. Because an alliance is a powerful thing, and you don't break them unless you are an utter fool, or if it is necessary.

Cato is commanding people around, and they all obey without question, except me that is. Something which causes Cato to glare at me in spite, and I swear he wants to either fuck me, or strangle me – probably both, and preferably at the same time. When we are eventually settled, we all sit down to rest; some sleep, as we are going hunting at night. We will catch them all at night.

…

"Wake up," a voice hisses at me lowly, tearing me out of my sleep. Because -apparently- I was one of those who laid down to sleep, and -apparently- that doesn't please Cato. Opening my eyes, I find him hovering above me, shaking me awake, and I groggily rub my tired eyes. I feel utterly exhausted after today's killing, and after having slept so little the former night. Looking around, I notice twilight has already settled, and that the other tributes will probably be readying themselves for the night.

"When do we leave?" I ask, cutting straight to the chase, without any of our usual bickering. Because those sessions of our usual taunting, and teasing makes me want to kiss him, and be with him so badly. And that is something I can't deal with in this Arena, not along with everything else. How am I supposed to focus on killing, and keeping Cato alive, if all I want to do is jump his bones?

As the thought graces my mind ever so lightly, I can't help but take my eyes off the muscles of Cato's arms, willing to burst through the fabric of his clothing. He is beautiful, and I want him, and I want our future to be as bright as the sun which shone earlier, and not the blackness of death it is now.

I want to just delete the whole of Panem, remove the other tributes, and just take all my clothes off, before walking into the lake. And then Cato's eyes will be on me with my every motion, even as I walk out into the water; he will be frozen, and just watching me. And even though it should make me shy, and insecure; it doesn't. And then I will turn around, and grin teasingly at him. Or maybe even smile? Either way, he would be in a hurry to get his own clothes off, to get out into the water with me. Then -since the water is cold- we would press our bodies together for warmth, kiss, and either fuck, or make love – any way Cato wants it, because I don't care as long as he is happy, and as long as he is mine, and with me.

"Soon," Cato says, coldly, indifferently, and I form my face to match his icy one. If any of those emotions that little picture of perfection causes me are visible on my face, I know Cato sees them. "Eat something, and then we'll leave." I nod at him, noticing how his gaze lingers a little longer than necessary on my face, before he draws back. Eventually he nods back, and turns his back on me to go and get himself some food.

After we have all eaten, we eventually decide that Marvel will stay here, to guard our supplies – we decide, as in Cato decides. He doesn't trust neither Kara, nor Glimmer with our precious food, and weapons, being his over-protective, and possessive self with things which are his. He would probably trust me with them though, but I'm not going to suggest that, as I want to join the killing too. And besides, that would have been nothing to discuss in his eyes, as I know Cato, and he is not going to let me wander out of his sight like that. The lack of faith he has in my skills is infuriating, and I hate how he obviously doesn't see me as an equal enough to let me make my own decisions.

Our district is of supreme male superiority, where the female is just a baby machine; a necessity for populating, and for the man's comfort. A woman is there to fulfill the man's needs, to be pretty arm-candy, and take care of the children. That is, after she is has trained for the Games in her youth. That inferior fate doesn't change unless she is a victor; only then she is seen as worthy; as an equal. And that probably explains Cato's discrimination of Kara, and Glimmer, because he doesn't see them as equals to his superior self.

I had a hard time convincing him that I wasn't inferior to him myself, as when we 'got to know each other' he only viewed me as his sex-object; his deadly little toy. As the reason we are together is because of sex, really. Something which I'm not sure if is sad, funny, or simply just wrong. Because -apparently- there is a tradition in the Training Center; one where a selected group of boys go after the virgin newbie girls, with one task in their minds; deflowering them.

Let us just say that I was pursued by Cato like that.

The Training Center is organized that way, that you start at the age of eight, and train with the small children, but once you turn thirteen, you will get to train with the teenagers. It is in that stage, from when you are eight to you are thirteen, they get rid of everyone who prove to be useless, and they will automatically lose their spot. The first thing which happens when you are a girl, thirteen and a virgin, well, let us just say you won't be a virgin for very long.

It is a sick, twisted game really, almost made to make girls insecure, and feel utterly like crap, as they rate each girl after looks, and willingness, which again will be their points. Cato explained it to me, after I had almost killed him in a fit of rage, after I found out the reason, I, well, was _deflowered. _Ten points are the most, where there are five points which is the highest in each category, so ten can only be the last sum. One to five of how willing the girls are, and one to five of how they look; if they are hot, the boys naturally score higher.

But even thought that is bad; absolutely horrifying in my eyes, it has nothing on how they video tape it. It is proof, because the guys aren't that trusting, and you apparently need proof if you are going to get any points. It still disgusts me, really, and Cato has never really apologized for it either. He was so young, and so proud that he as a fifteen year old, got into the gang, as it usually only consists of seventeen, and eighteen year olds. But then again, Cato was the big killing machine project, so of course he got in, and of course he didn't care that he caught my most vulnerable moment on tape. I wonder if he still has it.

Those guys really know how to make a girl feel used.

Cato has eventually had enough of us 'slouching around' as he calls it, and orders us all up to leave. Marvel says a rather grumpy goodbye, as he doesn't really want to be left behind, having to watch our supplies as his interesting task. Then we all start stalking into the forest, carrying our weapons, after loverboy's advice, because their mentor had told her to run straight for the woods, apparently. Normally, Clove Cavia isn't one to be trusting, but I can't help but let myself get convinced by him – he seems too sincere, too pure, too good to break our trust.

But then again, this is a game, and I would lie if I said I'm not watching his every little move. Because just as his declaration of love was one, what makes me think he isn't capable of playing other games? I'm the one who is good at playing games, and if this is his game, I will beat him in it. Nobody plays games like Clove Cavia.

We stalk through the forest, Cato in the lead. Because when isn't Cato in the lead? It is starting to darken noticeably around us, and quite fast too. We soon have to find our flashlights, and some of us who don't have one, make torches. We aren't afraid to be spotted, because -frankly- it is the other tributes who should be. But I am rather concerned about how we will scare them away, because people aren't exactly quiet when they walk...loverboy.

Cato is mutely leading us all, while Kara is growling to herself about how she can't seem to see 'a fuck' as she so nicely phrases it, even though she has got her own torch. Glimmer is murmuring lowly with Peeta, as I learned that was his name when Glimmer asked him about it. And as he answered, I had to really fight myself to not laugh, because pita is a type of bread.

The national anthem of Panem suddenly booms above as, and I look up to see the death recap. I recognize some of my victims, and I feel a bit uneasy when that big guy from 11 doesn't show in the sky. He is probably our biggest competition, as he is close to Cato in size. But I don't think he is nearly as skilled, being from District 11 and all. I could probably take him out if I was to face him. And it surprises me that I -in the far back of my mind- don't really want to meet him.

It is dark now, and the thrill of the hunt sends excited chills throughout my body as we continue walking. Cato has one of the two pair of goggles we have, which are created specifically for seeing in the dark, while I have to make do with a flashlight. It doesn't bother me much, except the gnawing feeling of not being able to see everywhere at the same time. It is not like I expect any tributes to be dumb enough to attack us, but there are certainly animals, or maybe even some sort of mutts here. I don't want to be their victim – what a pathetic way to die.

But still, even though I'm with the rest of the Careers, roaming the forest silently for an unfortunate prey, I still can't help but feel haunted by the strange feeling that this is just like home. The forest at home, where there are just as much secrets buried, as people. The graves of people who have been killed for fun, and secrets which will uncover once you dig them up.

At home, we played games too. Not much unlike the real Hunger Games, where our Arena were the forest surrounding our district. It was a risk, participating, because you fought against a bunch of violently vicious kids who had been fed blood since they were born. But then again, I was one of those violently vicious kids too, and I bet my father fed me blood, instead of milk when I was little, to ensure that my blood-lust would never be completely quenched.

Cato convinced me to play that game with him once, and I -it embarrasses me to admit- almost wound up getting killed. Cato had come out of the shadows in the last second though, and killed my attacker. He had been furious someone _dared _to touch me, and made sure that everyone who was playing along with us knew that if they touched me, they were dead. Nobody dared to go after me then, and I had left the game in anger. Because what was the fun if Cato used his authority to cheat on my behalf?

Cato has always had me in a leash, only letting me go out on my own if I was under his supervision, and in a fenced backyard. I was like a little dog to him, where he would tell me to attack, and I would. But I was quite the disobedient little puppy, as I would never obey at any other command. Then Cato, being the imagined master he was, would punish me. And yes, you are welcome to take that as wrong as you would like, because it is pretty certain that what you are thinking, is what is correct.

My wandering thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a light I'm certain isn't one of our own. I slap Kara as soundlessly as I can over the cheek to make her stop making any sound, as she is still growling to herself, before turning to glare at those murmuring behind my back. Then, when Cato turns to see what kind of chaos I'm putting to life, I grab his hand, and put my finger over my lips, before then pointing at the light, which is in almost the opposite direction we are walking. I'm so sure it is a fire, and I don't know who would be stupid enough to light a fucking fire when hungry predators are after you, and you for sure are their food. It doesn't make any sense – a real life suicide mission.

Kara is glaring quite spitefully at me after I slapped her, and I'm almost sure she will hit me back, but at least I made them all shut up. But still, even though they shut their annoying mouths, they still don't walk quietly. And again, I blame bread-boy. My mind snickers to itself as I think of that new nick-name I made him.

We eventually encounter that stupid tribute who has decided that she doesn't want to live anymore. The fire-starter is a girl who screams when Cato pierces her with his sword. He has no mercy what so ever, and pushes the sword oh, so slowly into her body, making her scream in both horror, and pain. It must be quite traumatizing for her to watch her life drain out as slowly as the sword pushes into her stomach. Then it is good, for her, that she won't live long enough to feel that trauma paralyze her. A shame, really.

Eventually, she faints, and the dying scream leaves her mouth hanging open, even unconscious. "Twelve down, and eleven to go!" Kara cries, and starts to cheer. I can't help but roll my eyes, and glare at her in annoyance. One, because she is pathetic. And two, because I'm sure the girl isn't dead yet; they don't die that fast, and we haven't heard a cannon.

Instead of joining in on Kara's cheering, or Cato's malicious laughter, I simply begin to search her supplies for stuff which might be useful to us; she has nothing good. When I have checked, and declared her belongings unworthy, we start walking again. "Better clear out, before the body start stinking," Cato says. His mood has gotten noticeably better, and it is a much difference air around him now; he isn't only moody, and dangerous; he is happy and dangerous instead. It is hard to go around the joyous atmosphere Cato is creating because his aura always radiates so strongly. And it is hard to get him out of his happy killer mood, but of course, I can always find a way.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" I ask. Something which makes Cato turn fast, and glare at me in spite. At that, I simply raise my eyebrows, us both knowing I'm stating a valid point.

It is Glimmer who speaks next, and it is rather funny, because I had almost forgotten she was there. "I'd say yes, nothing to prevent them from going in immediately," she says, sounding like quite the knowing, ice queen. I can't decide if I find it annoying, or just amusing. Both, I'm sure.

"Unless she isn't dead," I say, biting my lip to keep a smirk from surfacing. Cato is getting violently defensive now, and I love how angry my words can get him.

He is stomping closer to me now, trying to intimidate me by towering over me – too bad it doesn't work. "She's dead," he snarls. "I stuck her myself!" An indelicate snort escapes my lips at his words, something which is enough to really drive him over the edge.

But even though that should have pushed him over the line to fury, he remains balancing on that edge. My next words are like the final push, the final element to make him angry. "Then where is the cannon?" I ask, my voice infuriatingly calm, and my eyebrows still heaved. A faint smirk plays on my lips, and sets sparks of fury inside of my man. Cato is standing incredibly close to me now, lowering his face to be right before mine.

"Watch it, angel," he snarls lowly, for only my ears to hear. "You don't want to end up like her, now do you?" he drawls cruelly, gesturing in the direction of the girl he just tortured with his sword. My face is quite indifferent, and exceptionally emotionless as he threatens me, letting him know how I'm not the least bit faced by his dangerous words.

Then I smirk at him, showing him how he isn't in control of me now. Showing him how I'm not that little girl, that little sex-object, that little puppy. "I would like to see you try," I whisper at him, and his eyes bore into mine in annoyance-filled fury. I should be alarmed, but I'm not, only humored. What is he going to do when his little girl has grown up, sex turns into love, and that puppy has broken from her leash?

Cato raises his hand, as if to hit me, but a voice breaks him off before he can do his harmful doing to my face. "Someone should go back, make sure the job is done," Glimmer interrupts quickly. Her voice sounding quite strongly, and demanding. Which isn't too smart of her, knowing Cato will be even more infuriated if someone starts to command him around.

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice," Kara adds helpfully, but neither Kara nor Glimmer volunteers to be the ones to do it.

Damp is practically steaming out Cato's ears. Even though I can't see all of his features, I can still see the more than evident anger illuminated by torches and flashlights. "I said she's dead!" he nearly shouts, still having a little common sense to keep his voice down. There aren't long before someone will get his fist in the face, and I hope that won't be me; I know how much it fucking hurts.

An unexpected voice suddenly interrupts, "We're wasting time! I'll go finish her, and let's move on," bread-boy says.

"Go on then, loverboy," mocks Cato, intimidating him as much as possible. "See for yourself." Loverboy stalks off in the direction of the dying girl, and I hesitate the slightest on letting him walk there alone. But then I decide it doesn't really matter, because we can still see the fire, and we will certainly catch him if he decides to flee. "Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?" Cato snarls once bread-boy is out of ear-shot, his blood-lust stretching higher and higher as anger takes place in his body. The air around us is now angry, and that anger is seeping into my pores, spreading through my body like the poison Cato is.

"Let him tag along. What's the harm?" Glimmer says indifferently. "And he's handy with that knife." She speaks calmly, as if she knows Cato is seconds from snapping on someone.

"Besides, he is our best chance of finding her," I tell Cato, who should be listening to me.

"Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?" Kara says in that bitchy, and quite annoying voice of hers. If she sides with Cato because he his hot, or if she sides with him because she is using her brain, even though she must be using it quite wrongly, if that is the case; I don't know, but the way she agrees so blatantly with him, really gets under my skin.

"She might have. Seemed pretty simpleminded to me. Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke," Cato growls threateningly, still standing far too close to me for my safety. If he makes any violent move toward me though, I promise I'm going to plant my fist straight into his beautiful face.

Kara seems thoughtful as she says, "Wish we knew how she got that eleven."

"Bet you loverboy knows," Glimmer says in a cheery tone which suggests she just won whichever argument this is. But frankly, I'm sick of discussing this, and want to fucking move on already. As if on cue, bread-boy returns, and we all go quiet.

"Was she dead?" Cato snarls, as if daring him to defy him. Because Cato doesn't like it when others are right, and is quite the child in that way; he can't handle when someone knows better than him. It drives him insane, and I think that might be the only thing I have ever given him; the constant feeling of having right, because I sometimes let him believe he knows better than the world when I don't have the energy to fight his stubborn mind.

"No. But she is now," loverboy says, something which surprises me, and as if bread-boy as planned it with the cannons, it fires in perfect harmony with his words. "Ready to move on?" he asks, the boy sounds tired, and his voice is drained for any emotion.

And move on is exactly what we do, with Cato growling angrily under his breath, and the rest walking mutely behind us. It feels like the darkness around us is seeping into my bones, and tiring me out as my body wants to keep that darkness out. But I know darkness has already settled a long time ago, and that only being here in this blackness, has me fully submitting to the dark side.


	17. When Weakness Hides

17.

When Weakness Hides

The covered flaw;

When weakness hides

Found where you least expect

Caused by the will to protect

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><p>"<em>Have we lost ourselves? We were meant to live for so much more. Have we lost ourselves? We were meant to live." Meant To Live, Switchfoot <em>

* * *

><p>I have never been very fond of throwing up; the sensation of your stomach turning inside out, and forcing everything you have eaten out of your mouth. In fact, I doubt anyone in the world takes any liking in it at all. It feels horrible, it looks disgusting, and smells even worse. But even though it feels horrible while the contents of your stomach escape through your mouth, it still has nothing on how much like crap you feel afterward. Well, that can be a lie, because most people feel relief, I guess. But not me, because the most horrible feeling of cold ice and heavy stone settles in me, as the reason why the content won't stay where they belong, is unknown. And that fact alone gnaws at my already frail nerves.<p>

Day is about to arrive, as we have left night and embraced dawn. It isn't that dark anymore, but I can't exactly say the sun is shining that happily either. Once I'm sure nausea is done torturing my body to the point of vomit, I emerge from my hiding place, my make-do bathroom; a simple bush. Well, not a simple bush. It is a quite large bush, willing to cover my whole body as I step inside. Too bad it doesn't silence the retching sounds coming from my body which exposes me to anyone around.

Nobody looks at me weirdly as I arrive our camp again – nobody that isn't Cato, that is. I can't quite shake his heavy gaze off my body, as he seems to be studying me intensely, while trying to be discreet about it. He fails badly at discretion, his eyebrows heaving slightly, and he looks at me pointedly. I frown at him, as if to convey that I don't know what he means, even though I clearly do. He is asking me about what is going on, because Cato knows me far too well, and probably recognizes how I look after having thrown up everything I possessed.

The vague raise of his eyebrows soon turns into a glare, as we both seem to know I'm just pretending not to understand his gestures. And for once, he won't throw some sort of mean comment, or do anything about it, as we can't afford to be seen as caring toward the other. And for what I know, it isn't like he cares anyway. He just wants me to not be distracted by anything.

Ignoring him, I search for something to eat in the big pile we have piled our supplies in. Something which will not make its departure once it has made its arrival. I settle for some dry crackers, and wander down to the lake to fill my canteen. My eyes are constantly searching for any potential threat, for anything that might want me dead. But that is obviously not warning enough for whoever sneaks up on my back. Once I hear the slightest rustling sound behind me, I whirl, my hand flying to the handle of one of my many knives.

Marvel raises his eyebrows, as well as his hands, as if that will protect him from getting impaled by my knife. Well, that should suit him right for trying to sneak up on me like that. He jumps back as soon as I whirl too; he is afraid of me – with good reason. "Relax," Marvel says, lowering his arms in a gesture that might suggest he is trying to calm me down. It doesn't calm me the slightest, in fact, it annoys me, and I scowl at him. "I'm just going to get my water too."

Still scowling at him, I let my hand drop from where it rests on the handle of my knife, and turn to get my water. "Here," Marvel says, and hands me some iodine. I nod, flashing a grimace resembling a smile in thanks, and I can see he is a bit more comfortable around me now he knows I'm not going to cut him.

I turn to walk back to the camp, and see Cato's glare has left me to instead rest on Marvel. I know the look in my man's eyes perfectly fine. And it promises no good for Marvel. Cato needs to sit down, and fucking relax already. As if I will try to cheat on him in the Arena with all these cameras around. As if I will try to cheat on him when we are engaged. I might be a lot of bad, nasty things, but a cheating whore isn't one of them. Raising my eyebrows at him, I try to tell him to relax, because nothing is going on between Marvel and me. He glares, but turns away, and I breathe out in a breath of relief I didn't know I held.

As I deem the water drinkable, I take a large sip, trying to get the awful taste of my own vomit out of my mouth. The fact that I threw up gnaws at the back of my mind, but for my own sanity's sake, I push it away. It is unsettling though, as there is obviously something wrong. And that something will certainly affect the way I function when I fight.

We eventually leave again, to hunt. None of us have really gotten that much sleep after we came back from our last trip, only and hour or so. But we are all pretty pumped on adrenaline, so we still manage to keep ourselves awake, and alert. Marvel has to stay and guard our camp again though, on Cato's orders. And we all know Cato enough to not defy him, especially me.

They are just as noisy as last night; murmuring, stumbling. And I want to smack Kara again, not that she is the one making the most noise, but simply because she just annoys me. Cato -of course- is in the lead, with me right behind him, then there is Kara, loverboy, and Glimmer. We continue further and further into the woods, and in the end we find a path almost, which is wide enough for two and two to walk together. Cato slows his pace and winds up side by side with me.

I can feel his heavy gaze on me, causing me to look up at him with question in my eyes. "You didn't sleep much, did you?" he asks, his voice normally brutal, and even gruffer for the audience. But I still detect the way it is laced with concern, buried deep into the violent pitch, of course.

A spark of humor ignites in my eyes, and a smirk wants to grow on my lips. I keep it off my face though, knowing smirking can be a show of affection. "Not with all your snoring," I tell him, my voice also a hostile snarl, made even more growling for the show, and see his eyes spark with amusement as well. It is like he wants to roll his eyes at me, and I almost expect him to, but he doesn't.

But it really isn't like Cato snores that loudly, because if it is someone who snores, it has to be Marvel. Cato's breaths when he sleeps are loud, but they don't count as snoring. Our allies are surely looking weirdly at us now – their gazes burning holes in our back. They aren't capable of believing that we can act human too, no matter how inhuman our actions are.

There is a sound on my right which is so vague I'm not sure if it is real or in my mind. I grab at Cato's arm, causing him to stop dead in his tracks and stare down at me with eyebrows heaved. Pressing my finger against my lips, I signal for him to be quiet. "Do you hear that sound?" I whisper lowly, and point toward the rustling of what I'm sure is a bush. _Why am I the only one to detect sounds around here? _Surely other people can use their fucking senses too.

Cato furrows his eyebrows, and goes completely still to listen, then he nods. He motions with his hands for me to go straight forward andattack the prey, while he signals for Glimmer and himself to go in a circle around it, so if it tries to run, it will run into one of them. Kara seems confused, and Cato motions for her and loverboy to stay here.

I sneak around the trees, and inch closer to the bush with the sound. We aren't sure if it is an actual tribute yet, but if it is an animal we might as well catch it and get ourselves some proper food. But the prey is moving now, and has obviously spotted me as it takes off in the direction where Glimmer is guarding the area. When the target runs out of the large bush, I see it is a tribute. An obviously scared, boy tribute.

With a knife in my hand, I run after the boy, and I'm clearly faster than him as the distance between us shortens remarkably. I can just fling my knife into his back, but that will only be half the fun. But I don't reach the boy before Glimmer effortlessly steps in his path, and he crashes full speed into her. She has obviously braced herself for the impact, as she doesn't fall. But she wavers a bit though, along with the boy, before she steadies herself and forces the boy's back into a tree, pinning him by the shoulders.

Glimmer seems surprisingly enough to know what she is doing, but as a Career, of course she does. It is only weird seeing little miss innocence act so hostile. "Maybe you're not that hopeless after all." A mean snarl of a laugh escapes my lips, rather lowly though, as I feel paranoid about being loud in this place. Loudness is obliviousness, and I'm anything but oblivious. The boy tries to wiggle his way out of Glimmer's grip, but she is boring her nails into his shoulders, and prevents his escape.

Cato emerges from the undergrowth behind me, and he is loud. But he has always had a problem with moving silently when he doesn't see the absolute need to. My man's expression turns into one of disgust, and annoyance as he sees the captured tribute. "Kill him," Cato orders. The boy gets more violent as Cato utters his words, and Glimmer struggles to keep him pinned.

"No!" he shouts. "No, please don't!" He looks at Glimmer in desperation, and I swear I see her otherwise so emotionless face soften at his pleading. I narrow my eyes at her. "I can help you," he says helplessly. Oh, look, it is loverboy all over again. "Please don't kill me, I can help you!"

This is different though, this tribute has nothing to offer us, and the faster he gets killed the better. "How?" Glimmer says, and I know she is giving in to him. I exchange a fast look with Cato, and we seem to silently decide to interfere.

"Go away," I tell her as I push her away, readying myself to pin him against the tree as Glimmer lets go. Glimmer stumbles a couple of steps, and makes an offended sound in the back of her throat, which also sounds like a snarl. I return my attention to the boy, and sneer at him meanly. "And what can you do that will _help _us?" I drawl tauntingly, wrapping my one hand around his throat, while the other goes to his hair where I jerk his head harshly into the tree. The boy claws at my hand, and I loosen the grip a bit so he can give the answer I'm going to taunt.

"I'm from District 3, technology. I can help you," he repeats pathetically, at which I laugh.

"Damn it, Clove. Stop using so much time," Cato says, and shoves me out of the way, just like I did with Glimmer. And he shoves me quite brutally, enough for me to struggle to keep my feet on the ground.

"Fuck you," I hiss, and glare at him. But Cato doesn't acknowledge me in any way, and that is something that makes me quite angry. Cato holds the boy in a headlock, and I know he is about to break his neck. A low sound comes from behind us, and it is Kara and loverboy who have finally caught up with us too, and are standing there watching us like the pathetic creatures they are.

Glimmer though, has snapped out of her offended mood, and flies forward to grab at Cato's arm. "Don't," she tells him calmly. It doesn't matter how calm her voice are, because as long as she has her hand on his arm, and as long as it is without Cato's permission, he will get angry. "It might be smart to keep him around," she says, her voice laced with cold iciness. Cato glares at her in spite, and in disbelief, just as I glare at her hand on my man's arm. "He is from District 3. _Technology_, Cato."

He tries to shake her hand off his arm, and she gets the warning and removes her hand, but she doesn't take a step back. "There aren't any technology here," Cato spits. "And that's why he is of no use to us."

Glimmer shakes her head quickly. "The bombs of the metal plates," she says, and I'm both impressed and annoyed. She is failing on keeping up her ditzy blonde image, but her brains are impressive. It is a good plan, and I get where she is going with this, unlike Cato who stares at us both in confusion. "He can reactivate the mines, and we can use it as a weapon. Place them around our supplies so Marvel can hunt with us too."

Cato has definitely caught on by now, and he seems just as annoyed as I by the fact that the clueless blonde of our pack, is in fact, not that clueless. "Can you do that?" Cato snarls at the District 3 boy. "Can you do that and make sure our supplies stay safe?" The boy nods frantically, and claws at Cato's hand, which is squeezing at his throat exactly like mine was earlier.

Cato looks at me in question, waiting for my silent consent. I nod curtly, and he turns his attention back at the boy. "I'll let you go now," he growls in the boys face, intimidating him with his whole being. "But if you try to run, and if you pull any kind of crap, I'll kill you, you understand? And it won't be a quick death, you hear me?" Cato grins an evil grin. "It will be _slow, _and _painful._" District 3 bobs his head in a frantic 'yes' – his eyes huge, and scared.

The boy is a neurotic mess as Cato lets him go, and he falls to the ground. Slowly, he staggers onto his feet, and stands completely still, as if that will keep us from noticing him. We all proceed to move on, still searching for our goal, which is fire girl. Bread boy is trying hard to make use of himself, coming up with more and more theories on where the bitch on fire is.

We practically stalk around for the whole day, trying to find her, but with no success what so ever. We eventually have to return to our camp, because we didn't bring enough food and water to stay out here for too long. Almost everything of my food has been eaten by Cato, who always eats far too much. As payback though, I have drunk most of his water, with the reminder of throwing up in the back of my mind. It is fine with me that Cato takes the most of my food, because he has always used to do so before, and I'm afraid nausea will come back and haunt me again.

It is almost dark when we arrive camp, and Marvel seems upset once he sees District 3. But as Cato explains why he is there, he eventually agrees. Then Cato sets us all to work to dig up the mines buried in the ground. I'm tired, and hungry, and the slightest bit nauseous. Not that it matters, and not that I'm going to complain about it. I'm not some whiny bitch.

The shovel is being dragged by me along the ground, making a sharp, shuffling sound. I don't really care as I walk for myself to the mine which is furthest away from the rest. District 3 has marked where we are going to dig very carefully, and I poise the tip of my shovel skillfully on his mark.

But even though I'm strong for my size, I am nothing compared to Cato's and Marvel's strength. The digging goes slow, and by the time I'm done with my first Cato is mid-way through his third, and Marvel is just finishing his second. Kara and loverboy are even slower than me, and Glimmer helps District 3 reactivate the mines.

The adrenaline from the bloodbath has worn off, and I no longer have any fuel driving me on. My head is starting to pound in a cruel head ache, and I'm pretty sure I will kill the next person who annoys me, due to the extreme bad mood exhaustion causes me.

My hands are wrapped firmly around the shovel's shaft as I'm about to stick it into the earth again, but instead I find myself standing there and staring at the ring on my finger. It has a bit of mud on it, which smothers the otherwise so striking red, but other than that, it has kept itself quite nicely. The hand belonging to the ring though, is shaking, and if it is in exhaustion, or in grief, I have no idea. But it is trembling softly, and the thought of the ring spreads tingling feelings all through my body. Tingling emotions which stabs on the places which hurts the most, and feels the best.

Coughing suddenly erupts from behind me, a cough of someone seeking my attention. And they cough probably just to warn me about their arrival, as I tend to attack people who sneak up on me. "How's it going?" Cato asks, and nods curtly toward the hole I'm digging. To look at him, I have to tear my gaze from the ring, but burning stabs of mean, and delicious emotions are still hooking their claws in me, because Cato is the reason I feel at all.

"It's going fine," I tell him stubbornly. I'm not going to give him any clue on how much of a mess I feel, because in the Arena you have two choices; either pull yourself together, or pull yourself together. And if you don't, then that is too bad for you. Falling apart is not an option in a place like this, neither is sickness, weakness, doubt, nor hesitation. And neither -certainly- is love. Love rots and dies in this place, I'm sure, to burn in the flames of hell. "I'm done soon."

Cato raises his eyebrows sceptically as his gaze finds my barely dug hole, and a snort escapes him. "Yeah, if your definition of soon is tomorrow, then yes, you will be done soon." I can't do anything else but sigh at his sarcasm, as I don't have the energy to come up with an appropriate answer.

Cato obviously notices my lack of enthusiasm in our usual games, and his gaze flickers over my face. Then -without a word- he grabs his shovel and starts to dig. "This is the last one," he tells me. The gesture would normally have annoyed me, as I hate accepting his help, anyone's help for that matter. But right now, Cato's presence makes everything much better. He is the fuel I'm lacking, and in so desperately much need for.

Eventually -after just having stared at him for a while- I join in on the digging too. It goes a lot faster when we are two, and really because Cato could dig this hole faster with his fists, than I can with a shovel. Digging was never my thing. At home too, when Cato and I had killed someone, it was Cato who took care of the digging. And I always sat waiting for him, enjoying the sight of his muscles bulging with every motion.

We finish up, and Cato carries the mine to District 3, and Glimmer. I walk silently at his side, because this silence is comfortable, and comforting. Cato and I have learned how to communicate with each other in our silence, because I'm not good with words, and Cato enjoys the silence. He is normally so loud and obnoxious, that when he is with me he likes to keep still. But also though, because I'm not much of a talker. But even though we are silent, it doesn't mean we don't speak; the language of kissing, the language of touching. And that is enough for me.

Cato drops the mine in front of District 3, and we walk silently to the camp. It is dark now, and someone has started a fire in the middle of our camp. We can't really see where we are walking, so we are careful with where we place our feet. Cato's hand has brushed against my wrist on a couple of occasions, and I know it is on purpose as his hand does not naturally come at the same height as my wrist. Those small touches are comforting though, and even if I know they aren't coincidental, they seem like it.

While I -apparently- have struggled with my two holes, Cato and Marvel have both dug up the mines, and dug holes around our piles of supplies, so the only thing for District 3 to do is placing them in the ground, reactivate them, and then scope some dirt over. My work for tonight is over, and I couldn't be more happy.

Cato learns me where the few reactivated mines are, and I can see where the rest will be, as they are now big gaping holes. Getting some food, and purifying some water, we move back to where the others sit by the fire. Kara and Marvel is in a fiery discussion of what is the better skill; swimming, or climbing. While Kara -being from District 4- is completely sure that swimming is all you need to know to survive, Marvel insists that climbing is better. Surprisingly enough, they seem amused by the other's attempt to fend for their favorite skill, and their bickering isn't spiteful. It is much more friendliness than I would ever dare to think about in a place like this.

Their discussion ends when Glimmer emerges from the dark with District 3 after having finished the last of the bombs, and insists that Marvel is right. Something which makes Kara glare a bit, and seems to surprise Marvel. Kara stops glaring soon though, and goes back to being her cheery, fake, annoying self. "Why don't we play a game?" she says, ever so excited.

I have finished my food by now, and I think her suggestion is stupid, as all I want to do is to sleep. But that isn't the only reason why her suggestion is dumb; it just is. I snort indelicately, and Kara's eyes bore into mine. "We're already playing a game," I tell her, us all knowing that we are playing the game of our lives. Literally. And the game she will suggest is much likely something stupid, and utterly–

"Truth and dare," Kara says, interrupting my thought, and ignoring my words. "We can play truth and dare." I sigh in frustration, because I don't want to play her damn game. I have played truth and dare _once _in my life, and that ended terribly. With a huff of anger, I lay down on my sleeping bag, and close my eyes in defiance. I'm not going to play that game.

"Fine," Glimmer agrees, something which surprises me. "It isn't like there is anything better to do." And after a couple of seconds evident hesitation, Marvel agrees too. I open my one eye to see them all look expectantly at Cato.

My man grins. "If Clove plays, I'm in." I glare at him, shaking my head curtly in a firm 'no', and close my eyes to sleep. But I can't shake the feeling of someone staring at me off, and when I once again open my eyes, I find them all -indeed- staring at me.

"What?" I exclaim, being annoyed why they can't just let me sleep. I'm tired, and Cato has remarked on several occasions on how much of a demanding bitch I am when I'm exhausted. But as I -once again- glare at him, he just shrugs his shoulders carefully, and heaves his eyebrows with a smirk playing on his lips.

"Stop being a coward," Kara says, and her accusation angers me. "If you're a coward, then what are you doing here?" She spreads her arms wide, as if to include the whole Arena in her words. "_Cowards _don't belong here," Kara sneers, and that is the last straw.

"Shut up, you annoying little witch. I'm not a fucking coward."

"Then you won't have a problem playing truth and dare with us." Her smirk annoys me, and she has me cornered; no matter which way I go, I will still fucking lose.

"Fine," I growl, but make no move to get up from where I'm still laying on my sleeping bag. I close my eyes again in defiance, and hope they will forget I'm here.

The game starts off pretty not shocking, when Kara asks Marvel and he says truth. "Have you ever been so drunk you haven't remembered anything when you woke?" It is a stupid question, but really all questions coming from Kara's mouth are stupid. Wait, there aren't any stupid questions, only stupid people.

Marvel shrugs with a sheepish grin on his face. "Who hasn't?" I keep myself entirely still to not give away anything I don't want them to know. Getting drunk was my escape when my world seemed too dark for any light to ever shine again, and alcohol made the black darkness turn a gray haze. At least gray is better than black, at least numbness is better than pain.

"Glimmer..." Marvel continues to ramble on, while I manage to shut him out of my brain. Sleep is embracing me with a warmth close to the one Cato holds, and I'm more than willing to surrender. But as I'm about to fall asleep, I'm yanked out of the embrace brutally. Somebody poked me in the stomach rather hard, effectively dragging me out of my vague slumber.

My eyes shoot open at the same time as I sit up abruptly, and I glare at Cato who is smirking meanly at me. He is obviously the guilty one. "What?" I spit at him, mad he woke me when he clearly sees I need to sleep.

"I asked you a question," Kara says, and I snap my head in her direction. I had forgotten everything about the stupid game they tortured me into playing, and now I have been the target for their attempt at squeezing embarrassing information out of me. "Truth or dare, Clove?"

They won't let me escape this, and I won't give them the satisfaction of drawing back, and hiding in myself. I'm Clove Cavia, and I'm not a coward, I only have a lot of secrets. And so does Cato, so I have no idea why he agreed to play. I give my man a look which says, 'you are so going to pay for this later', before I lay back down and close my eyes. Kara is about to pester me to answer again as I say, "truth."

Kara takes her time figuring out a question, and I'm almost asleep again as she speaks. But I hear her question loud and clearly, obviously thought of to make me uncomfortable. "Are you a virgin?" It is shocking, and not, at the same time. It is shocking because I can't fathom how she dares ask me that, but it is not, because I have gotten to know Kara a little these last couple of days, and it doesn't surprise me that _she _will ask me something like this.

Cato immediately bursts out laughing, and I snap my eyes open to glare at him, at the same time startling myself up in a sitting position. He isn't the least faced by my glare, and continues his dark laughter. He is fucking making it obvious to everyone, with only his laugh, that I clearly am not. Hell, I haven't been a virgin in three years, but that doesn't mean that the whole of Panem needs to know. "Shut up," I snap at him, looking for something to throw at him. I find nothing else than one of the knives in my belt, and I throw it in his direction; the knife missing his throat by only an inch. "Shut up, or I'll shove it in your throat."

Cato doesn't quiet down though, and I'm sure my flustered skin is being judged as embarrassment, rather than the anger it is. Hell, I might even be blushing for all I know, but this is not something I appreciate from my fucking fiancee. Marvel is trying to hide a snicker, in obvious fear that I will shove my knife into his throat too, as well as Cato's. Kara is smirking that annoying smirk of hers, and Glimmer looks fairly amused. Loverboy, and District 3 are obviously listening in on our pathetic game too, even though they are both sitting away from our group.

"Fuck you," I tell him, and lay down again. Shutting my eyes firmly, I pretend I don't hear their snickers at my obviousness. _Fuck them. They don't know anything. _They don't know how I only feel good with myself when I am with Cato. They don't have any right to judge me, as Kara is obviously a slut, Glimmer has a fucking kid, and judging by Marvel's drunk escapades, the chance of him being a virgin is very slim.

"I never thought you were innocent," Kara says, and even though my eyes are closed, I can see that taunting smirk on her face. Kara, as well as Gia, and every other slut-like person I know, has a certain way of getting beneath my skin. I want to slay my skin off, just to get her away. Just to get her poisonous words, and cruel smirk out of my brain.

But those words make me so angry, because she is practically saying I'm a whore. If it is one word in the whole fucking world I can't handle being called, it is whore, or slut, or something of the same meaning. Those words set every nerve of emotion I own on fire, and they burn until my heart is screaming in insanity. I hate it with such a fiery passion that the hatred almost chokes me. I can't describe it, but it angers me so much.

Cato looks at me with that alarmed expression on his face as I sit up, knowing just how I react to those type of words. Because when Cato and I fight, we have silently come up with a couple of rules we agree on. One of them is not calling me any words with that meaning. That is something Cato does only when he is after me, when he wants to hurt me. My glare has turned dangerous as it finds Kara, and the smirk melts off her face. "Are you implying that I'm a _whore_?" I ask her, my voice alarmingly calm. Fury will soon break free from its delicate disguise though, and that sight is not nearly as pretty.

Kara looks scared now, as she has seen what I can do with knives, and she knows how I got many in my belt, and jacket. It is so easy for me to just take one out and fling it at her pathetic self. "No," Kara says quickly, shaking her head. "I'm not. That wasn't what I meant at all."

"Then what did you mean?" I growl at her, starting to get up to take some of my anger out on her.

"I.. Uh.. I-I.." she begins, and her eyes widen as they see me starting to move. Cato though -always the killjoy- grabs my wrist sternly, and forces me down on the ground again. I try to get my wrist out of his grip, but he won't let go. In an attempt of getting out, I try to hit him with my free hand, which only results in that hand getting captured too. Cato heaves his eyebrows sternly, as if to tell me to call down.

But being kept like a little caged animal in his arms like this, does nothing to calm me down. "Let go off me," I hiss at him, and he eventually does, with a pointed look on my face.

"Go calm down, Clove," Cato tells me quietly, and I more than willingly stand up to leave, being far too angry with Kara to handle looking at her face anymore. Without another glance at my allies, I stalk into the dark forest. And as I have walked a while, I realize I didn't bring a flashlight, and that it is entirely dark around me. Stopping dead in my tracks, I'm not willing to walk any further.

I wind up just standing there in total blackness, breathing harshly to control the anger demanding my attention. As long as I focus on something else, I know I will be fine. I will make myself be fine, if that fucking anger would just unhook its poisonous claws.

A sudden hand wrapping around my wrist, scares me. But I know who it is as soon as he whirls me around, as soon as I detect his smell, and his brutality. "_Cato_," I growl at him, not happy he has followed me, only to restrain my arms. But I don't put up a fight, knowing it won't do me any good. I will only seem weak, just like I have seemed too much already in this Arena.

"_Clove_," Cato mocks, even though there is a caged sigh in his voice somewhere. There aren't any words which can be uttered between us now, which won't expose personal information to the whole of Panem. And that is why we stand there in silence, looking at each other in the light illuminating our faces from Cato's flashlight. "You calm enough now?" he asks, uncaring, uncommitted, snarling.

"I can control myself just fine," I tell him, and try to get my wrist out of his grasp. There is something with Cato and wanting to crush my wrists to dust. He gives a little amused grunt, and lets me go. The grunt is one of disbelief too, because Cato is convinced I can't control my anger. Something which I can, when I want to, when I see the absolute need to. But Kara is going to die anyway, and she is someone no one would care if I let my anger out on her.

I start to walk away from him, but have to stop eventually as I realize I still don't have a flashlight to see where I'm going. Cato chuckles lowly as he catches up with me, nudging me in the arm. It is a surprisingly gentle nudge, but I return it quite forcefully. "Hey, be nice, little girl," Cato growls in a soft whisper.

His normally so hostile voice, and the meaning behind his words make me smile on the inside. And as he is about to push me back, I get out of his way, causing him to push the empty air. "You're slow," I tell him, smirking a bit, and knowing how much that will get under his skin. Cato fumbles around with the flashlight for a bit, before it focuses on my face.

"Watch it," he growls. For the audience it might seem like he is genuinely angered by me, but I can hear the playful pitch in his snarl. "Bring it, _angel,_" Cato teases, both of us having forgotten we are in the total dark, and that fighting without seeing is a whole new challenge. A challenge I'm willing to take, and win.

He goes for me again, but I slip away, winding up behind his back. Cato has dropped his flashlight, and it now lays in a way which illuminates our fight. Eyes narrowed, he turns around, ready to capture me, I'm sure. The light is dim, and makes Cato's face look utterly scary, and monster-like with the dark shadows cast over his face like a veil of darkness, and blood-thirst. "Why don't you bring it, asshole?" I taunt him.

"Gladly." He charges for me, yet again. But this time as I slip away from him, he has calculated where I will move. Cato gets his hand around my thigh, causing me to fall and hit the soft ground. In the air I twist, getting my thigh out of his grasp, making sure I land on my shoulder, and not take the whole impact on my back. He grins down at me from where he is towering above me, looking oh, so satisfied. "How's it going down there?" he asks.

Glaring at him, I make no move to get up. With a sigh, he eventually offers his hand to help me up, and I accept his offering. Too bad he sees the evil glint in my eye far too late, and I'm suddenly on his back, having also restrained one of his arms by pressing it between his back, and my front. I grab his head in a headlock -which, ironically enough, it was Cato who taught me- even though I know I can't snap his neck. Cato's neck is far too thick, and I'm not strong enough. But I can give him a lot of pain, even if I don't kill hm.

I turn his head so he is almost facing me, and smirk at him. "No, how's it going down _there_?" Cato only laughs, and bends his upper body in such a quick motion that I can't help but being thrown off. Of course he helps with his free hand, removing my arms around his neck, and all. I literally go over his head, and land on my feet before him, facing away. Cato's hands are on my hips, preventing me from getting anywhere.

"Come on, it seems like you have gotten all your anger out. We'll go back." Even though he decides that we are now in peace, he still is reluctant to let go off me with the first, if one of my surprise attacks are to come again. But I can play nice too, and I don't try to snap his neck once more. One time a day is enough, I guess.

It isn't joy that consumes me when he removes his hands from my hips, it is emptiness, and longing. Because those hands on my hips are familiar from nights spent together – nights of lust, and hate, and need, and comfort, and healing. Nights with me, and Cato, and pretending we don't feel when we so clearly do. Nights with inhaling Cato's smell as it mixed with mine, feeling the good kind of burn when our skin met, and being there, united with the only person I have ever let my heart really see.

"I could have snapped your neck there," I whisper up at him, grinning meanly.

Cato grunts in disapproval, never willing to admit that sometimes I might actually get the best of him. His pride won't handle being beaten by a girl, and I guess I have smothered that pride more than once. That is one of the many reasons he hates me, but even more a reason for him to love me. "You're delusional," he tells me. If he had only known how spot on his accusation is sometimes.

I let out a low laugh, which doesn't sound too malicious and dangerous, but rather rings with much more amusement than I would really allow. "You can't handle being beaten by a girl."

We then emerge from the blackness into the small area strongly illuminated by the fire. Our allies look surprised up at me when they hear me laughing, and seem even more surprised that Cato is the one making me laugh. They think of us as sadistic, heartless people. And they are correct, if they only look at the surface. But it takes quite a lot to dive beneath it, as said, my surface hides the tiny core of my humanity very well. It hides it to the point people think it is non-existent, and that is something I am extremely grateful for.

I glare at them, because I don't like being watched that way, or in any way really. I like gliding in with the surroundings, like a hunter on a hunt; a shadow mending with the colors of the world. They all look away, all of them probably positive that Clove Cavia must be off in her head, or simply needs a lot of anger management classes. And both are probably very correct.

Without another glance in Cato's direction, I make my way back to the sleeping bag I had made myself comfortable on earlier before Kara came and ruined my mood. But now she doesn't even dare to look at me and I wear a smirk of satisfaction on my face in triumph. The smooth fabric of the sleeping bag feels good against my skin, and I know I'm soon to fall asleep.

It isn't before in the middle of the night when I wake up, I turn my whole body to face Cato. I'm so close I can reach out for him, and touch his hair. But I don't, because that would blow my whole fearless sadist image. It doesn't keep our eyes from locking though, as Cato is wide awake. _Sweet dreams, angel, _he mouths to me. And I will punish myself for the small smile I let grow on my face later.


	18. When Suspicions Are Uttered

18.

When Suspicions Are Uttered

The terrifying talk;

When suspicions are uttered

Truth came knocking on the door

Deny it as never before

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><p>"<em>We keep wishing for some little break. A day on the bright side, a bargain with faith. And be someone who's head is held high. Someone lucky if just for a while." Still Water, Erlend Bratland<em>

* * *

><p>I don't see it before it basically hits me in the face; the fire. Even though the strong smell of smoke has infiltrated my nostrils for quite some time now, and the faint sound of fire cracking has lingered in the back of my mind. But as said, I don't see it, until it is too late – I'm on fire.<p>

And no, that is not one of my usual metaphors, as I am literally on fire. A burning branch came out of nothingness, and stabbed me -more or less- in the side. My whole right side is on fire, and since I do -in fact- own more than a sliver common sense, I am intelligent enough to get the burning jacket off my body. But the flames don't stop licking my body because of that simple fact, and the fire of the forest certainly doesn't stop burning.

In a desperate attempt trying to not become a living human torch, I throw myself on the ground. I roll around in the grass, and mud, like a madman, knowing that if Clove Cavia is going to die, it will certainly not be by a stupid fire.

People are yelling, screaming, and I'm pretty sure I hear Cato call out for me. But a wall of crackling flames has separated me from the others, and I'm on my own to fight my own burning battle. At least that was what I thought before Glimmer came to my rescue, drenching me in water from her drinking bottle. Then she drags me onto my feet, and pushes me, as if to signal that I better start running.

But in that moment though, I see a whirling form of dark hair, and whom is certainly in her right element – girl on fire running around in the flames. Oh, the irony. I want to run after her, because I spoiled my chance with her once, and I would hate to do that again. But as several forceful coughs force themselves out of my body, I know that if I pursue her, I'm as good as dead.

Glimmer hisses at me in a warning; she clearly wants me to run. And I know I will have to, even though my body is one big tremble of coughs. So I run, for me, for my life, and I cling to the strand of hope telling me that Cato has enough common sense to run too. My world is a whirl of smoke, and fire, and even more smoke, before Glimmer finally finds a way out in the open. When we get out of the inferno, I fall into a heap on the ground, coughing like a maniac.

But it doesn't stop with the coughing, as I soon start to throw up too. The smoke seems to have seeped through my skin, and is inhaled by all my organs, even though the rational part of my brain knows the smoke was breathed in. With all the coughing, and vomiting going on, my body forgets to breathe as there simply is no room for it. The feeling of not being able to breathe is so claustrophobic, and I begin to panic. I feel like a fish on land, struggling to survive.

Eventually though -to my great relief- the vomiting stops, and I can breathe in between body shaking coughs. Glimmer hands me a bottle of water, and I gratefully accept it, trying to drown the smoke. But the smoke has come to stay, and the water makes me cough even more. Even though that is probably because I'm desperate, and trying to chug it all down at once. Forcing myself to calm down, I slow the drinking, discovering how everything works so much better then.

"Please don't cough up a lung, because then I'd be forced to shove it back," Glimmer tells me, coughing herself, but not as violently as me. I can't answer her, as another cough erupts from my chest. Instead, I glare, hoping she is aware of the horrifying mental images she put in my mind.

The burning of my lungs has kept me so preoccupied that it isn't before now I notice the actually burn on my side. I hiss as I touch it, trying to check if it is bad. But I was never a doctor, even though we were forced to learn basic first aid at the Training Center. Basic first aid isn't enough for this burn though, I'm certain.

_Where is Cato?_ my mind suddenly screams, having broken through the barrier of my physical pain. _Where the fuck is my fiancee? _Fear grips me tight around the throat, and I can't breathe again. It is very different now though, as the problem doesn't lay in something physically blocking my air-ways, but the mental hand of fear wrapped around my neck. Blood starts to thud in my ears, and my mind comes up with a thousand horrifying scenarios of what might have happened to him.

"We need to go back to the camp and tend to your burn, Clove," Glimmer says, looking pointedly at my wound. I can only stare at her helplessly, my thoughts whirling full speed through my mind. I don't give a fuck about the fucking burn as long as Cato might be dead. If he is dead, I won't know what to do.

"Where are the others?" I can't quite hide the frantic pitch in my voice, and I'm sure my face reveals my panic even more. With the will-power I didn't know I possessed, I force my face back to nothingness; ice, and carved stone. "Did you hear a canon?"

Glimmer seems confused at first, but then suddenly gets the picture. It is very visible on the expression on her face; how it goes from being a hazy frown, to as clear as the sky. "Oh," she utters quietly. "No, there were no canons," she says, but she sounds so uncertain. And how would she know anyway? She was in the crackling flames with me; she couldn't have heard anything. "Let's go back to the camp." She offers me her hand, and I take it, while trying to swallow the awful taste of panic in my mouth.

The walk back to our camp is tense, and quiet, as I'm constantly listening after sounds of our allies arriving. Frankly, I couldn't care less about the rest of our allies, only Cato. _Please, let him be okay. _Because what am I going to do if he isn't? Live the rest of my life as a half, because my other half -my better half- is gone?

When we arrive the camp, Glimmer forces me to lay down so she can dress my wound. I obey, numbness having found me, and both helps me to work, and prevents me from functioning. The initial shock the thought of not ever seeing Cato again brought me, has dulled into nervousness. Where I am a neurotic mess, and my nerves have been chewed down to bare stumps.

"It's going to be okay," she assures me in a cold voice, eyeing my wound. But the look in her eyes tells me she isn't talking about my burn. Her assurance means nothing to me though, as it is a lie. Even if Cato is alive for now, nothing will ever be okay ever again, as death lingers more dangerously in this place than Cato's scent in my memory.

Hissing, I let her try remove my blouse from where it is somehow stuck in the wound; she winces along with my threatening sound. The blouse is ruined, but can still function somehow as it is only the right side. It will probably show my stomach, and my beautiful burned wound. In the end Glimmer just uses my knife to cut the fabric around the wound, so I can pull my blouse over my head. I wind up in my sports bra, trying not to catch a glimpse of the angry burn. But trying obviously isn't good enough as my eyes come to rest on it either way. I'm nauseous again.

My fists lay clenched at my sides, as if that can stop the trembling. It does to some extent, but not enough for Glimmer to ignore. Stone is the form my face tries to take; cold, icy stone, and I think I manage pretty well, due to the circumstances. I stray from wincing every time she tears the blouse's fabric from my skin, but malicious hisses escape me every now and then.

But it is a great distraction, that physical pain. It distracts me from the pain all my whirling thoughts cause me, and I believe that might be the only thing keeping me somewhat sane at the moment. Pain is painful, as painful as it is familiar. It is relieving and not at the same time.

While I focus on the fucking ache that is my side, and on not letting any of those poisonous thoughts into my mind, Glimmer's eyes are suddenly drawn upward, and a faint smile grows on her lips. "Look," she whispers, barely audible. My head shoots up to glance in the direction she has directed her gaze.

They are in rather poor conditions, but they are all alive. Most important of all; my other half is okay, which means I can still live the rest of my life as a whole. Completely forgetting for a second that Glimmer is still tending to my wound, I jump up onto my feet, starting to stride against Cato. Anger has replaced the fear, because I'm so angry he dared do that to me. _How dare he disappear like that on me? How fucking dare he?_

Cato's eyes lights up like the sun when he sees me coming toward him, relief evident on his face. But that bright face soon turns darker, more alarmed, as I come closer and closer. Alarm is everything his expression is as I'm right before him, and he has a good reason to be as my hand finds it way across his cheek. The slap leaves an angry, red mark formed after my fingers, and palm. Cato isn't the slightest bit shocked by my act of violence, but he glares down at me anyway.

I don't know if there is any vulnerability, or other weakness showing in my eyes, but his face softens noticeably as he gazes into them. He understands why I slapped him, why I'm upset. Quickly, to prevent a tremble from showcasing my torn emotions, I bite down on my lip. When I look up at him once again, I feel shy, and wrecked. This isn't something I'm good at; manipulating my own emotions to make them benefit me.

Marvel looks bad after the fire, and it obviously marked itself on his skin. He looks at me with that confused mask on his face, revealing how he clearly doesn't understand why I slapped Cato. And for that I'm glad. Cato glares at them all until they walk past us, before returning his gaze to me. "What?" he asks, peering down at me through narrowed slits.

I'm rather taken aback, as I don't know what to say. The words I want to let off my tongue have to stay the most hidden, and I can't think of anything appropriate for the public eye. Shaking my head in curt, angry shakes, I step forward with determination. Reaching up on my toes, I get into his face, and peer at him through copied narrowed slits. "If you do that to me once more," I say, forcing myself to take a deep breath to calm down. "Then you're dead, asshole," I tell him, poking him in the chest with a sharp finger. Neither of us can seem to escape the upset pitch in my snarl.

Then, I turn around and walk away from him, very aware of the anger playing a dark game in the air around us. Glimmer gives me a stern look -well, stern to be her- when I get back, and commands me to lay down so she can finish wrapping my wound. When I have laid down, and I'm settled, I look up to see Cato's gaze on the burn. Two barely visible lines appear between his eyebrows, and he looks at my face. With a nod, I dismiss his asking eyes which are wondering if I am okay. I'm fine now as he is here. Pain has let go off me, for now.

"Cover your breast," Glimmer tells me, and before I have registered what she said, she has rolled up my bra. My hand flies quickly to cover my partly naked chest, and I hiss, as -apparently- some of the bra's fabric was also stuck in the wound. I feel exposed here I'm laying; the feeling of being scrutinized under someone's gaze is hard to shake off. Cato is constantly glancing forth and back at me; his gaze shifting in between being worried and amused. Cato is clearly enjoying my discomfort, and the sight of my half-naked body.

The pain of the rest of the cleaning feels like extremely soft stings in comparison to the torment going on in my chest earlier. I would gladly take physical pain over emotional any time. Because scars on the body hurts less than scars on the soul. Glimmer wraps a bandage around my whole stomach, the burn going all the way from right below my breast down to my hip. Also my inner arm got lighter burns, but my side is definitely the worst.

I nod at Glimmer in thanks as she finishes fixing me up, grateful she seems to know what she is doing. "It's a second-degree burn. It's not that bad, surprisingly. But you will have to be careful, and threat it properly, okay?" She looks at me with narrowed eyes; the emerald green shining through those tiny slits though, are probably the most sincere I have ever seen. I nod again, not understanding why she acts so damn kind toward me. It annoys me, because I'm rude and she is so good-hearted, and it makes me almost feel bad for being so damn cruel. Almost.

"Did anyone of you see fire girl?" I ask them, suddenly angry she once again slipped out from my grasp. I get up on my feet, and retreat my blouse, trying to judge how much of it I can save.

"Yeah," Marvel says from where he is sitting on the ground, and letting Glimmer take care of his burns too. "But we were kinda busy not getting burned." Something which he obviously failed at. But I'm not going to say anything as I will only get a biting comment back because I'm not exactly in the best condition either.

Cato seems greatly annoyed by the fact that he didn't get a chance to snap her neck, or slice her head off with his sword. Our agreement was that whoever saw her first got to kill her, and we have both seen her, and lost that chance. But I know new opportunities will come – she has nothing on us.

We soon take off again, us all having packed vital supplies for survival -food, water, sleeping bags, flashlights- as we are determined to catch fire girl _tonight. _I couldn't be more excited, because I will be the one to spot her first. _I _need my revenge, and I'm going to get it. We leave District 3 behind because he will only slow us down, being the wimp he is. And because it won't harm us to have a pair of eyes on our camp while we are gone. Marvel tried to teach him how to throw a spear, to little use, as District 3's arms are so puny he can barely carry one.

None of us came out of the fire unharmed, and we all have to stop our separate times when cough attacks consume us. I have one of the worst attacks though, having to stop running because I can't breathe. It almost goes to the point where I have to throw up again, but air finds me just in time. "Is it possible to cough up a lung?" I ask Glimmer, between breaths, and shaking, and even more coughing. If she had said that as a joke, it wasn't the least funny.

Glimmer nods, causing me to frown deeply in actual worry for that to happen. I don't want to see my own lung, yet alone cough it up. "Not the whole lung, but bits of it, yes." Well, _that _is comforting. "Relax, though. It's rare, and even though you inhaled a lot of smoke, I still don't think that is even close to the amount you will have to breathe in to actually cough up a lung. I'm not even sure if smoke can do that at all."

I calm a little at her words, but I still feel the burn in my lung whenever a cough breaks free from my chest, and the ripple of pain on the actual burn from the shaking it causes. But I'm not going to let that stop me from getting my revenge on fire girl, and I give my consent to start running again.

It isn't long before we arrive the place of the fire, which looks wrecked, to say it mildly. And the direction is -of course- the one we saw bitch on fire running off to. Pushing myself further I'm determined to be the one to point fire girl out as my prey, and I also need to concentrate on not falling behind. Smoke is not a kind friend when running.

"Clove." The grin in Cato's voice is unmistakeable, and he stops abruptly, causing me to almost run into him. And by that grin, I know for a fact that Cato has spotted our prey; that she will be his to kill. Glaring at him, I receive an even wider grin, creeping under my skin like the itch I can't scratch.

I regret making that agreement with him now, even more so as I see the dark light of sadism lighten in his cold, blue eyes. We wait for the slower ones to catch up, and once Kara emerges from the trees, she right away starts running toward our target, having also -obviously- spotted her. "I see her!" she shouts, and Cato mutters a curse under his breath, before charging after her.

The smoke is still having a party in my body, but that doesn't stop me from running after them, as I'm not willing to lose any of the fun – I'm quite the party destroyer in that way. Kara has proven to be an idiot, as we could have easily surrounded bitch on fire, and made sure she had no way of escape what so ever. But no, Kara concluded with her smart brain that it would be wise of her to just run like a madman. If fire girl escapes, I'm going to personally shove my knife down Kara's throat.

She lays in a lake as I spot her, but as she sees Kara charge forward, she soon gets on her feet. We chase her as fast as we can, us all being affected by the fire, and running slower than normal. But she also runs fast, and before we can reach her, she has climbed up into a tree. Cato grumbles curses under his breath, and I think Kara finally has realized she spoiled everything, as she stays the furthest away possible from Cato.

I glare up at her, hating the fact that she slipped from my grasp. _Again. _But a smirk soon grows on my face, as I know she won't again. She is trapped in that tree, and we all seem to know death is knocking on her door. I will gladly help her let it in.

"How's everything with you?" says fire girl from where she sits in the tree, smiling down at us. Oh, look at that; she wants to play games. Well, she isn't the only one who knows how to play, and it will be by our rules.

"Well, enough," Cato answers as casually as her, but I know he is rather taken aback. "Yourself?" he asks with a dangerous grin, promising no good. Taunting Cato is never a good idea, and the only person escaping from it alive is my very self.

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," she says, ever so smartly. _No fucking kidding. _"The air is better up here. Why don't you come on up?" And that is a challenge Cato can't resist because he is too stubborn. He is like a bull, and fire girl is waving her red fire in front of him.

"Think I will," he mutters, his voice containing everything from irritation, to excitement. But I'm not quite sure he can climb that tree, because agility isn't Cato's strong side. And besides, my man is big – his muscles almost breaking free from his skin every time he moves. He is definitely not built for climbing. Marvel though, would probably stand a greater chance, as he is smaller, and has actually learned how to climb. But Marvel is just as tall as Cato, if not taller, and his lanky limbs will not go well with the tree. Me, on the other hand, could get up there to kill her easily. But I'm not in a place to do that, as Cato spotted her first, and he would be so mad at me if I dared to disobey his _kind _compromise.

"Here, take this, Cato," says Glimmer and offers him her bow. Raising my eyebrows in surprise, I glance at the strange exchange. She knows Cato doesn't stand a chance with a bow.

"No," Cato grunts, and pushes the bow away with a rather rude motion of his hand. "I'm better with my sword." Exactly. But I can't help but sigh as he starts climbing the tree, as it seems to linger in the air between the rest of us that he will fall down. But what else is there to expect from a boy whose arms are the size of my waist?

Cato's blood-lust is driving him further and further up in the tree, and I'm annoyed how he can't set his need for revenge aside, to do the smarter thing. Cato has his pride, his reputation to withhold, but I'm concerned that this attempt on making his reputation be one to fear even more, will back-fire. And it does -indeed- back-fire, as one of the tree's branches isn't solid enough to carry his heavy weight. It breaks with a loud warning noise, before I see the big form of my Cato fall to the ground.

During other circumstances it would have been funny, but nobody dares laugh at Cato. He curses, and jumps up on his feet, before slamming his fist into the trunk of the tree. If he is going to throw a tantrum, I'm going to slap him out of it. Not that it would work, but it would be satisfying.

"Hmm.." Kara murmurs thoughtfully, glancing at each and every one of us. "Anyone else who'd like to try?" And in that moment I could have sworn Kara was Gia's twin; the superior glare, the condescending smirk. "What about you, Glimmer?" Kara drawls, letting her cat-like eyes flicker over Glimmer's face. "I don't think you've killed anyone yet. I mean, you aren't _scared, _now are you?" The obvious taunt lingering in Kara's words is so obvious it isn't even funny, and it lightens a angry light in Glimmer's eyes. One which I haven't quite seen yet, before now, that is.

To my big surprise, Glimmer slaps Kara across the cheek. Something which seems to shock all of us. Glimmer included who is staring shocked at her hand, and Kara who is staring at her with wide eyes. I snicker at the shocked state of everyone. "I'm not scared," she announces in a dangerous voice. "But you should be." Wow, slapping, and threatening. _Where did little miss innocent go?_

After Kara has pulled herself together from the shock, she laughs that mean laugh, only rattled a little by the surprise. "_Oh, _I'm scared," she mocks, causing Glimmer to narrow her eyes in a glare. "Why don't you give it a try? I mean, since you like to climb and all." She heaves her eyebrows, while nodding toward the tree. Her comment obviously aims at how she sided with Marvel in their pathetic argument, and there seems to be some sort of game going on. One which I can't understand, and one which I don't really bother to either.

Then Glimmer surprises us all by turning around and hoisting herself into the tree, but before that -of course- the ice queen gives a last poisonous glare at the bitch, which she returns just as venomously. As the branches start to crack beneath Glimmer, she stops, and pulls out her bow, and arrows. The arrow fails in piercing fire girl's scull, or something equally violent, or deadly. Glimmer tries to climb higher, but even though she is graceful, her body is far too long, and curvy for her to reach any longer. I can see the distress on her face, and it is obvious she knows she doesn't have a shot at climbing any further.

Kara shoots Glimmer an evil look when she joins us again. "You missed," she points out, as if it wasn't already painfully obvious. All the ice queen does, is glaring back with equal intensity. I think I finally have found someone who hates Kara as much as I do.

"Like you can do any better," Glimmer hisses back, causing Kara to raise one eyebrow delicately.

She laughs that annoying, mocking laugh, and I just want to strangle her right. But as I look at Glimmer's flustered face, I think I might just let her do it. Maybe she will get the taste of blood too? "I can do so much better." Kara smirks.

"Shut up," Cato tells her as he seems to have calmed from his tantrum, and is walking toward us. "If it hadn't been for you, she wouldn't have been up there in the first place. So just shut your annoying mouth." Kara makes an offended noise in the back of her throat, but doesn't dare to do anything else than staying quiet.

"What are we going to do?" Marvel asks, effectively drawing Cato's attention from his lingering anger to thinking productively. "We can always send Clove u-"

"No," Cato interrupts sternly, with that powerful no-bullshit voice of his. It angers me, because I can reach her, I know I can. I'm small enough to climb those thinnest branches, and I know how after spending hours in the woods hiding from civilization. His eyes focuses on me, narrowed, and I mimic his gaze to send it as equally evil back. "You know why," he says darkly, with a grin which is even darker. "I saw her first. _I _am going to kill her. If any of you do, I swear that will be the last thing you'll ever do, okay? Great." His grin obviously disturbs the rest of our group, or at least Glimmer, whose nose scrunches.

Dumbfuck. Really. It would have been so easy for me to just climb up there, and shove my knife into her heart. But no, Cato has to be his stubborn, arrogant, sadistic, annoying self, and claim her as his prey, only because of a stupid compromise. And as always, my angry glare doesn't face him the least.

"We'll wait until she comes down. She can't stay there forever." Cato insists we set up our camp around the tree, because in that way she can't escape in any way. There aren't any trees too near the one fire girl is trapped in either, and then she can't jump from tree to tree. And besides, there is a lake nearby, which we can fill our water bottles from. It is perfect, Cato believes.

The make-do camp is soon settled, and we once again wind up sitting around the fire. It is silent as we eat, or at least as the others eat. I have suddenly been overwhelmed by a pounding head-ache, and nausea which is demanding the most of my attention. The dried meat I was about to eat because I'm starving, suddenly doesn't seem so appealing anymore. It is the smell, I have decided. That awful smell makes my stomach want to turn, and I carefully put it back in hope that it will stop smelling so bad.

Cato is eyeing me carefully, two small lines visible between his eyebrows. I bite my lip, while looking down at my food. I can't eat that damn dried meat, but there are surely something in my backpack which isn't so nauseating. Dried apricots – why did I only pack dried food? Though they seem a lot more appealing than the meat. Well, that was before I opened the package and caught a whiff of their smell. It is sickly sweet, and smells far too Capitol-like. But I know I need to eat something, as I have thrown up far too much already to withhold whatever good health I have.

But once I take a bite of the fruit, I regret it so badly. My stomach can't handle it, and does everything to keep it away from my insides. All I can do is jump up on my feet, grab a flashlight, and make my way into the dark of the forest. When I feel like I'm far enough away from our camp for them not to hear me, I let myself retch it all back up. It feels like the acid is burning holes in me, and I really feel like not being alive right now.

The sensation is horrible, and the stabbing uncertainty of why it happens at all is unsettling, and makes me even more nauseous. It has to be from the fire, from the running, and from the exhaustion, right? There aren't any other reasons for throwing up, and smelling weird things, and feeling dizzy.

I can feel the blood drain from my face, and my heart clench in fear, as what has been lingering in the back of my mind, but I haven't allowed myself to think, surfaces, and embraces my whole thinking sanity. My breath is going faster, and faster as the thoughts whirl around mercilessly, and horrible truths pop in my head as flowers in the spring. With eyes wide, I grip the flashlight tight, and stand in the almost completely blackness, shaking in trembling realization. Trembling in fear, but in hesitation, in confusion, but in truth. Certainly, my mind is driving me crazy, as I'm sure I have the worst of luck. But with even the worst of luck, something like _that _can surely not happen to anyone. That is too brutal, too bad, far too evil for even destiny to come up with.

I don't think the odds are in my favor.

And I don't think destiny has ever liked me much, but if this is my punishment, I'm far more hated than I thought. It doesn't mix; life and death. There is a fine line between those two, but that line can't be crooked, or removed. That isn't possible. The line can be stepped on -indeed- but not toyed with. Who the hell is toying with my line?

There is a noise piercing the cold air, and when I listen more closely, I realize it is the shattering of my own teeth. I choose to believe it is because of the cold air, and not because of the pool of emotions which have become of my chest. Which my heart is swimming in, and fighting against the overpowering, cruel, and demanding flood.

Along with the sharp sound of my teeth clamping on each other, I detect another sound too; a movement of some sort. I try to pick myself up from all the pieces which seem to have been exploded by my mind going on over-drive. But it is dark, and my flashlight does not provide enough light for me to find them all, and I'm left like a scared shell of my usual self. The sound of the motion is caused by Cato, obviously. No one else have the guts to move so carelessly loud throughout the forest in the middle of the night in the freaking Arena.

I don't dare to turn and look at him though, in fear of what his face holds, and of what he might see on mine. Cato reads me like an open book, even though he really can't read, and I'm not an open book. But he knows me so well, too well, and every suspicion, every thought, every emotion I hold, are visible for him to see. I don't know why, but that is just how things work. He sees me – the real me.

"No," Cato says suddenly, disbelief thick in his voice. There is that big chance he is thinking the same as me, as my head snaps up along with his words, and the look on his face promises no good. It is almost funny to see the struggle of emotions on my man's face, because he has always had a problem dealing with them. I recognize some; disbelief, shock, hesitation, anger, and a whole lot of confusion. "No," he mutters under his breath, denying his thoughts. And I would kill to find out exactly what those thoughts sound like.

He directs the flashlight he is gripping in his hand on my face, the bright light blinding me for a couple of seconds before he lowers it. Cato is still standing far away from me; a good distance lays between us. And the thoughts, and words, and accusations, and suspicions, and threats, and everything good, and everything bad race between us, like telepathy, or sign language.

"No," I echo him, denying both our thoughts. Bringing Cato along on the ride of suspicion is dangerous, and I have had enough danger to last me a life time. "It's not.." I start, but I'm interrupted by a low, threatening growl from my man's chest. Closing the distance between us seems to take a whole eternity, even though some eternities are smaller than others, but he eventually reaches me. Oh, how I wish he hadn't. Oh, how I wish I had ran. Oh, what a clueless fool I am, and Cato too, to believe that disaster had hit, when the true disaster hadn't even began.

Oh, such fools aren't meant to survive.

He grabs me by the throat, in his usual violent grip, and holds me up against the trunk of a beautifully dark tree. The flashlight is put in his pocket, but still illuminates both our faces in a dark, eerie light. If nightmares had a handsome face, it would be Cato's, and I guess dark souls like ours belong together.

The light, the look, the expression in Cato's eyes changes in between tender, angry, and confused. Tender, as he studies my face, almost if wondering why we will be put through hell again, when we already have been there once, and barely made our way back. Angry, as he looks for any kind of confirmation of his obviously demanding thoughts, as if I am truth impersonated. Confused, as he scrutinizes me under his wandering gaze, demanding answers and ordering me to give him the right ones. The right ones tend to be the ones we don't want to believe. "Clove..." No more sounds escape him.

I try to shake my head in his firm grip, and air is getting heavy to breathe. He realizes but doesn't release me, as violence is the only way he gets answers, he thinks. And that might just be. "Don't," I manage to get out from my nearly blocked throat, but only barely, and there aren't more room for anything else, as Cato gives himself the word.

"Don't what?" he snarls in my face, angry for reasons I both can't, and can fathom. Those I can't are the most pleasant. "No, _you_ don't." His voice is angry, and one of such disbelief, and of need to believe this is false. "Don't lie," he hisses, because I lie, and I'm a lot of things, and liar is definitely one of them. "Don't you dare lie."

"No," I manage to get out. He can't do this, he can't say it. What about me? What about Panem? What about the ring which has a value of love, but not as a promise? Why isn't he thinking before he lets his tongue move? Consequences lurk around each corner, waiting for us to run into them face first. Cato can't run, I won't let him. "Don't, Cato," I tell him. Saying it out loud will make it worse. So much worse.

"Tell me," he says, demanding the truth of the suspicion laying heavily on our shoulders. "Is this...what I think it is?" The question is hesitation in itself, and there are no room for any other emotion than confusion. "I-I...Shit." Cato breathes in deeply, as if that will change anything. But things remain the same mess as he breathes out too. He clenches his hand tighter around my neck. "Tell me, and don't you dare lie. Not about this, Clove. Not about this. I need to know. I have the right to know."

Answering soon gets hard when a hand is wrapped around your throat, just ask anyone and I'm sure they will say the same. Once again, I'm released, and air suddenly seems so much more satisfying. But panic again makes the air go away, because panic takes all the room I have got in my body. Panic, because truth is creeping up on me, like the shadows I sometimes see, and I can't fight it, just like I can't fight them. "Don't," I once again get out. "Please." The urge to cry is being mean right now, and wants tears to pool in my eyes. "Don't say it out loud." That last sentence escapes in a whisper, one which is trying to mask the fear, the vulnerability, the confusion.

"Is it true?" he demands, obviously aware of the tremble that is my voice, which tells the truth about the tears which soon will form. "Damn it, Clove. This.." He can't finish, because just as I, he is at loss for words. Because instead of words we have emotions, and those are the ones that really should be lost. Nothingness seems much more appealing now. "No."

"Cato," I snarl, but it is a masked sob. One which are waiting to be let out, but one which I have caged, and thrown away the key. Instead of unlocking the lock, I let my fear, and uncertainty escape in snarls, and growls, and threats because that is what I have learned, and that is what is safe. "Please." My snarling soon fails me, and my voice is left hollow, devoid of anything as long as Cato isn't the one to search. He finds the fear, he sees the fear, he fuels the fear. "Don't."

But pleading does no good when Cato is determined. Because Cato wants to know the truth, and no one can command his voice to ask anything else. "Clove," he says, his eyes filled with hope of me answering no. But also revealing how he knows the answer at the same time is yes. I don't want to answer, as yes is dreaded, and no is safe, but ugly. I can't do this, but that doesn't bother my man.

"Are you pregnant?"


	19. When Nightmares Become Real

**Author's note: **Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and added the story in their favorites/alerts.

I would like to thank all the anonymous reviewers whom I can't thank personally.

To the lovely guest with the suggestion: No, that's not stupid at all. It is a wonderful suggestion, and yes, there will be a sequel as a result of my alternate ending. But I won't say anything more. Thank you so much for the review!

To the other lovely guest with the constructive criticism: Thank you for taking your time to write such a constructive review, I really appreciate it. And I do know what you are getting at, and I will work on it. I'm not going to pretend like having them not grow, nor learn is my plan, but I do however think that is a part of Clove's character. She is stubborn, and pretty much a child. Yes, I am aware that children learn, and grow, but she is a girl who is simply stuck. Especially during these circumstances she finds herself in. Thank you so much for the review!

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><p>19.<p>

When Nightmares Become Real

The heartless reality;

When nightmares become real

Insanity's arms are closing in

Run, before you let it win

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><p>"<em>It's only life. She's so afraid of this. And so afraid to ask. She hides behind her mask. Nothing's ever right. She's so afraid of pain. So afraid of blame. It's driving her insane. So insecure, there is no cure. Well, she's so afraid. She's so afraid of death. She's so afraid, afraid of life. The drama in her head, getting louder all the time, getting louder all the time. She's so afraid, afraid to lose. Been so afraid of fame. Everyday she feels the same. It's driven her insane... It's driven her... It's drive... It's... Another broken pretty thing." Afraid, Motley Crue<em>

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><p>Cato and I were never your average kids. We grew up inside the Training Center, between beatings, and the pressure of doing our best, then even better. We were expected to be the best, and we did fill the shoes of those before us the best we could. Being just kids was not an option in District 2, where blood, and murder are daily occurrences. Pressure was put on us to act like grown-ups, from the age of six. Something which explains a lot, I believe. Everything from having sex at thirteen, to practically living unsupervised.<p>

We were children playing grown-ups, and that is something which is in itself a fairly bad plan. Children aren't supposed to have to take care of their drunk fathers, and provide food for themselves. Children aren't supposed to hear insults, and be beaten just because they set a foot inside their own home. Children aren't supposed to have sex, and get pregnant. And that was Cato and I was; children, very messed up children, indeed. Who murdered for fun, and fucked like there was no tomorrow, but children none the less.

We lived so carelessly, like no consequences could ever face us. Like murdering someone didn't make us monsters, or didn't lead to punishment. Like having sex couldn't lead to creating a child of our own, and make children parents to a smaller child. The thought of protection barely ever graced our minds, before we were stuck with a pregnant me, that is. Then we started to think that the consequences were really something we should have considered.

I had learned to fight, to mercilessly throw a knife into the heart of someone without a moment of hesitation. I had learned to kill, but not how to make the decision between the life, and death of my own child. It had been the hardest thing I had ever done when I decided that I couldn't kill the blob on the screen at the clinic. It was something far beyond my comprehension, but that feeling in my chest when I saw the tiny blob – I can't even describe it. But that was when I knew that was something -_someone_- I couldn't kill, _wouldn't _kill.

Cato didn't understand, because he didn't feel the fluttering of the life inside me. For him it was just another pointless nuisance he would kill without a sliver of hesitation, because Cato and I could never have a baby due to the circumstances, due to the fact that we were destined to be in the Games. The vicious one; Clove Cavia was not allowed to have her baby.

Not that it would apply to me now, I mean, if Cato's accusation, and both our secret thoughts are correct. Because this is my time to die, with child or not. The thought of never being able to have my baby feels like stone in my chest, slowly sinking toward my stomach. But I know it is for the best on all parts that a child will never be birthed by me, as that poor soul would probably wind up even more tortured than its mother's.

The mere thought though, about another child growing inside of me, is unsettling, and frankly unthinkable. I don't really believe it, because my so-called symptoms can just be ones of exhaustion, or of the bulimia I'm certain I don't have. I can't quite grasp at my feelings at the moment, as my whole body has gone numb from my thoughts. But I do however, feel the pain from Cato's grip around my neck.

My man is breathing heavily, with wild eyes boring holes into mine, and his hand gripping tightly around my throat. He won't let go until I give him an answer, I know him that well. But then we might as well stand here forever, as I don't have an answer to give. There is that silence between us, which always comes when both has so much to say, but neither knows how. It is a tense, strained silence, and it is one which I hate because the only thing we do is waiting for the other to break it.

His gaze wanders over my face, tracing every line, and facial feature with his eyes, eventually stopping on my trembling lips. I can keep my entire body completely still, except from the quaver that is my lower lip. That which indicates I'm about to cry, and I bite hard down on it to prevent it from happening.

Sudden anger finds me through all the confusion, and fear, because Cato fucking said the words out loud even though I pleaded him not to. "I said don't, you asshole," I rasp, and claw at his hand. Cato and I often have different definitions of words, something which causes great arguments. Usually it is me who has the correct version of the word, while Cato has made up his own. Digging my nails into his arms, I try to pain him enough to let me go. But -as always- Cato seems barely affected by my effort, but lets me go none the less.

He ignores my burst of anger. "Clove." His voice is calm on the surface, but I hear the frantic pitch lingering in the deep somewhere. "Damn it, Clove." He doesn't know what else to say, I guess. Because if there is a baby in my belly, of course I'm the one to blame. At least that was the case last time; it was my fault, and Cato was the saint who wanted an abortion.

"Don't," I tell him once more, letting my voice plead him. I let my face plead him too, hoping that will soften him enough to let completely go off me, and forget about this occurrence forever. There aren't anything more to say about the matter, as a new life in the place of death is deemed to surrender. There are no room for weaknesses in the Arena, and pregnancy must be such a weakness, such a set back, that it isn't even on the scale of weakness.

But once again, Cato doesn't listen. And even though he has let go of my throat, he still has me pinned against the tree. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" He is furious now. So utterly, damn furious that it seems to color the air around us as crimson red as his vision must be.

"There is nothing to tell, Cato," I tell him quietly, trying to get a hold of my own anger. Because if Cato is going to blow up, I need to stay somewhat calm. "I know just as much as you do, okay? Let go off me." He doesn't believe my words the slightest bit, and I'm stuck with the disbelief of my man shoved down my throat. I need to convince him, somehow, because if Cato decides in his mind I'm pregnant, I know he will force me to win. Even if he so has to tie me to the trunk of a tree to prevent me doing anything to assure Cato will be the victor instead.

I don't even want to know the truth, as if this is it, I might just lose my second baby. But there aren't any place for thoughts like that in the Arena, as babies belong in a safe home, not a death trap. Somewhere in my mind though, my thoughts start to wander off how it would be to have a child with Cato. Once the mental picture of my very self holding a baby, wrapped into a pink blanket, with Cato's arms around me, and peering over my shoulder, I know I need to push these thoughts away. They are cruelly destroying me from within, and silent screams like these will never be heard.

A crazy laugh escapes Cato, and makes him sound oh, so insane. But that laughter stops so abruptly, I might think someone shoved something in his mouth. "I don't believe you," he snarls, now suddenly very serious. "I've seen this before. Don't you dare lie. I swear, if you lie to me, I'm going to.." He doesn't finish his threat as he is busy clenching his jaw in anger.

"Look at me," I hiss, even though there really is no point to it, as he is already looking at me. "Really look at me, Cato." My growling makes him focus properly on my face, and I decide to push every ounce of truth to the surface. "You know when I lie. And I don't know anything about this, Cato. Look at me, you know I'm not lying." The spark in his eyes tells me he believes me long before his actions do.

Eventually, he nods, letting go off me, and taking a step back. I barely have the time to move out of the way before Cato's fist slam into the tree I was just pinned against. Usually, I would calm him down about this point, with my alternative methods. But right now, anger is gripping me by the ankles too, and I'm not willing to let it trip me.

Cato looks like he is trying to find a bad enough word to describe this possible situation, but fails in coming up with one. _Fuck, _and _damn it _seem like far too mild descriptions of the anger which is obviously occupying him.

All I can do is staring shocked into the air in front of me, as numbness is fading, and realization is settling for real. What if there is something growing inside of me at this very moment? The thought brings such a stab of incredulity that I'm not sure if the stab hurts or not. Things like this just doesn't happen. Not even to me, whose luck never settled right. It isn't possible.

A sudden grip on my chin tears me out of my trance of disbelief, and forces me to focus on Cato's face. He searches my features carefully, quickly, before letting go of me, and turning around. His broad back is the only thing I see as he walks away, it is hunched in that way which it is when he is angry. His dirty-blond hair is even more tousled than normal, and it is sad how I'm not the one who has tousled it. He is walking away from me, because he thinks we are having a baby, and Cato doesn't want to have a baby. Cato doesn't like babies – they scream, and they eat, and they sleep. That is all they do, and he thinks they are only in the way. But we aren't having a baby. We can't have a baby.

Bad luck ensured me a place in the Arena when Cato had volunteered, but only pure evil will put a child inside of me, in the Arena when Cato has volunteered. And even though pure evil exists, it can't target me; I'm one of its few allies. I don't think pure evil is in a place to break any alliances, that bastard.

It hurts, I guess, that he just walks away like that, but far inside, I know it is for the best. If he had stayed, he would have thrown a tantrum, a really mad one, where I would have been hurt in more ways than one. The beat of my heart sounds loud in my own ears, and hurts where it slams against the cave of my chest. Thud, thud, thud. Break, break, break. Pain, pain, pain. Stop smashing my heart, Cato. It isn't a toy you can play with. Stop it.

There is nothing more to say, there is nothing more to do, there is nothing more to think about. It shouldn't be anything, it shouldn't mean anything. But if it is, or that it means something, are buried as a secret, as one of the corpses in the woods back home. And being that I left my shovel at the camp, digging it up isn't an opportunity. Secrets aren't something I can waste my time on, and that is why I bury them in my heart.

There is no fluttering – there is no life. It is simple. It is black and white. It is life and death. It is happiness and pain. I can't deal with this now, because the unwelcome thoughts are tearing my sanity apart. And if it is one thing I need to withhold in this place, it is my sanity. I have seen it when people go insane in the Arena – it is televised live. They scream, and claw at their own eyes, as if that would make them not see the evil of insanity. They don't think clearly, they see things other can't, and they don't make any sense.

Insanity is not an option.

The camp is quiet as I come back; everyone having settled for sleep. Glimmer is guarding the camp, sitting against the trunk of the tree fire girl is captured in. She watches me with worried eyes as I arrive, obviously having seen the furious state of Cato as he emerged from the forest. He has laid down to sleep too, even though his eyes are still open. I try to catch his gaze, but he refuses to look at me.

I nod to myself, as if this is something I deserve, for being so dumb, and ignorant. But what is there really to be ignorant about? I have been good, taken all my birth control pi–_fuck. _No really, fuck. When I think about it, I realize I might have forgotten a few last month, as our training always get intensified before the Games. We train harder, longer, and we live at the Training Center. In those weeks, everything that isn't training just falls out of your mind like it has never existed. But -of course- Cato being the horny boy he is, found a way for the both of us to meet up after we were done for the night in the girls locker room. It had been quick, but so damn good, as the possibility of being caught was so thrilling.

That trail of thought soon gets forced on another, as I make my mind think it is just bullshit. Thinking back on the days before I turned fifteen, where we hated the word condom, and birth control was something I took just because I could, not to prevent unwanted pregnancies, and only when I felt like it. We did it so many times, and no consequence ever faced us. Why shouldn't that matter now?

Cato still doesn't want to look at me, but I know he does anyway when I close my eyes. I want to open them to see if he looks away, but at the same time I don't quite dare. What if he wants to leave me? What if the baby who isn't there, but who Cato believes forms in my belly, breaks the promise of my ring, and makes even love have no value? What if I'm left alone in a place of death, and evil, without my other half to make me whole? Nobody survives cleaved in two.

I open my eyes to see his gaze on my face, as expected. There aren't any emotions in his eyes, and I wish he would lend me some nothingness, as I'm sure he can see the fear in mine. The blue in his eyes seems to boil icily cold, and his thoughts are unreachable. How am I supposed to fix this? How will I fix the way this is breaking my mind? How will I fix my dying reputation? How will I fix the image of the fearless, sadistic, and vicious Clove Cavia from District 2, when those three words from Cato's mouth tore that picture apart?

My heart is screaming for him to be with me, and still love me, even though I'm stupid, and might have gotten myself pregnant again. My heart is screaming for his, and I'm desperate for an answer. I need to know if I fucked things up, if I'm not worth his attention anymore. _Don't leave me._

Sobs are building in my throat for real now, and I know he sees them. As if Cato's sight had been x-ray, and the sobs had been concrete objects collecting in my throat. But Cato doesn't own a x-ray sight, but rather sees the truth in my eyes. I turn my eyes to the dark sky instead, as when the image of Cato is gone from my vision, the thought of losing him is easier to control. My eyes soon get drawn to the sparks cracking free from the fire, and which dances in the air like glowing miniature coal, before fading into the chilly night.

The air is cold because of the wind blowing, and that wind brings a word of assurance. It leaves no doubt about the one uttering the word, and the evident relief in my chest when it reaches my ears. "Angel." I don't need to look at Cato to know that the wind was carrying his word, and I continue to intensely study the beautiful embers of the fire. This is the second night in a row I will punish myself for the smile gracing my lips.

…

_Ouch. _That is the only thing my exhausted mind is able to conjure as a pain reaches my hand. _Ow. _Because through the fog which is my sleepiness the pain feels so clear, and so sharp. And the sharpness of the ache, alarms me into awakening, as I can't quite understand what causes it. But the pain isn't the final reason I wake, as it is a tremble going through my body, caused by hands shaking me by the shoulders.

My eyes fly open suddenly, to stare into the beautiful, clear, blue eyes of my man. But that usually so calm blue isn't, as the usual tranquility rebels, and turns into full disruption. It scares me, because Cato looks scared, and he never lets such an emotion grace his unfeeling face. "Run, angel," he commands, growling in my ear, and dragging me up onto my feet. "Fucking run, _now._"

That is when I hear the buzzing sound of bees, and see the swarm of the angry insects racing toward us. Let us just say I follow Cato's command without the slightest of hesitation. The sound of the creatures registers in my mind as I run, and I don't recognize it as regular angry wasps, but as tracker jackers. There were lessons about them back home in the Training Center in the obligatory classes. Their venom make you see the things you fear the most.

I'm already starting to feel the effect of being stung; I'm dizzy, and my sense of direction is faltering, along with my ability to think straight. "To the lake, to the lake," I yell, having learned the creatures don't go anywhere near the water. As soon as water embraces us, we will be safe. But my thoughts soon go cloudy, and my body falls into numbness. The stings are becoming more and more, and my speed is becoming slower and slower. My body is too small to handle a lot of stings, and I feel myself grow faint, before I collapse in motion.

The last thing I remember before blackness claims me, is arms catching me before I hit the ground, and scooping me up in strong arms. "Don't you dare die on me, you stupid bitch," Cato hisses in my ear, causing me to smile through the darkness. "I'm not done with you yet." If it hadn't been for how lost I am, I would have laughed at his silly words. He is never done with me.

The world suddenly changes around me, so fast it is nauseating. Different colors and shapes whirl around me in a blur, and they eventually settle on a room I vaguely recognize. But as I see the man inside, I know exactly where I am, and exactly what lays ahead. My eyes are frantically searching for a way out, as the man before is slowly nearing my terrified self. In a flash there are ropes around my wrists, and I can't fathom how they came there that fast. The ropes tie me to hooks in the wall, and in another flash I'm left naked. It is like my mind forgets how to function for a minute or so, and when it gets back on track, so much has happened, and I don't understand anything.

The man is my dead stylist, and he is nearing my exposed body with that slinking way of walking of his. Dread punches me again and again, with every steps he takes, and tries to choke me once he reaches out to touch my face. "Aren't you a pretty little thing?" he purrs in his Capitol-accented voice. "Beautiful even." His finger traces my jaw, the line of my throat, and all the way down to my breast, where he pinches slightly. All I can do is close my eyes, and try not to scream.

"Don't," I'm pleading him. "Please, let me go." And the fact that I'm pleading is bad enough in itself, but he won't answer my plea with kindness, only evil. I'm forced to watch as he unzips his zipper, and lets his pants fall to his ankles. His hands find their way to my hips, where they curl, and his nails dig into my skin. "No, please," I whisper. Lifting me, he places me up against the wall so he can violate me the easiest way possible.

The sensation is painful, and mean, and cruel, and evil. He doesn't care how much I cry, and plead, because in the end, he is still inside of me. He doesn't even flinch as I claw at his face, and only pushes into me harder. I scream then. I scream for Cato, because he is the only one who can save me, he is the only one who cares to save me. I need him. I need him so badly to remove this disgusting man from me, I need him to hold me so I can cry the abuse away, I need him, but he doesn't come for me.

Then there is another flash, and I'm suddenly in my house in the Victor's Village. Only, it isn't _my _house, not the one I grew up in anyway. I'm living there with Cato, and my belly is swollen to the point that I know I'm going to give birth soon. We seem so happy, as Cato lays his hand on the big bump, and actually _smiles_ down at me. I find myself laughing at the tracker jackers, because this is happy, not scary. And every memory of my stylist raping me has temporarily vanished, as my mind is focused on the happiness, and the baby in my belly.

My mind spoke too soon, as I'm suddenly in labor as my water breaks – the happiness turning into panic. Cato rushes me to the hospital, but when we get there, I have already started to bleed. My baby is dying, and there is blood everywhere. Blood on the ground; a trail of blood following me as I waddle forward. There is blood as the doctor tells me to push; there is so much blood, and the doctors don't care. They hand me my baby as it has finally come out from its hiding, but when I cradle it in my arms, I see the baby is covered in blood too. No, it isn't _covered _in blood, the baby is bleeding. From its tiny ears, and eyes, and mouth, the blood even seems to pour out my babies tiny pores. I'm crying, screaming at someone to save my baby, but the doctors don't listen to me, and neither does Cato.

They walk out of the room, leaving me alone with the baby. Before they turn off the light though, my baby's eyes fly open, and the lids uncover a scary evil. Crimson red eyes, glaring at me, accusing me for being such a bad mother, and bleeding. Yes, blood, there is always blood. My scream is the only thing ringing in the blackness which follows.

The light gets turned back on, and I'm in my house, with my father standing before me. There are shadows moving at the corner of my vision, and no matter how quick my head turns, they stay at the sideline. My father is laughing; mocking my frail sanity, it seems. The floor beneath my feet gives in under my light weight, and transforms into a big, black gaping hole. One which I'm instantly sucked into.

My heart clenches, and beats so fast in fear as the air whizzes past my ears, and through the space between my fingers. _Are you pregnant again? _It is my father's voice which is speaking, which is taunting me as I fall deeper and deeper into nothingness. _Good. Then I won't have to push you down the stairs again. _The replay of his cruel words bores itself into my mind, and makes my soul scream for someone to release me from this torture. _At least it doesn't need to have _you_ as its mother now. You would have destroyed it._

In the air, I curl myself into a tiny ball, clasping my hand tightly over my ears, and closing my eyes firmly shut. But the voice is in my head, and I can't escape it – it is everywhere. _You're a worthless mistake, you should never have been born. _The words are cutting into my mind, and heart even sharper than my sharpest knife. I can't deny how they hurt me anymore, because they etch themselves into my brain like the most cruel burn. _You're fucking weak, Clove._

_And worthless. Nobody loves you. Nobody ever will._

It is burning, and I feel like my eyes, and ears are bleeding, as well as my heart. It is so scary, so damn terrifying to fall into oblivion like this – it makes cold sweat break out on my back, my heart race fast, and my hands shake in the most violent trembles. But it isn't oblivion after all, as I'm suddenly to falling anymore, but hovering in the air which has been colored blue, and suddenly smells like death, and not only fright.

I'm once again in the Arena, and I think everything is over. That everything is fine. But as soon as relief settles, it is sucked out of my body, and replaces itself with dread. It isn't over, it so far from over. The sight before me is scary, and it is what I have feared all along.

It is like I'm watching television, and was dragged in by arms coming out from the screen, and where someone is constantly switching the channels. All the colors fly in whatever direction suits them best, and make horrid images form before my eyes once they meet. The images have one thing in common; Cato.

One is Cato being killed with a knife piercing his heart. Another is where Cato leaves me because he has eventually realized he deserves better. There is Cato leaving me because I'm with child. There is Cato kissing other girls. There is Cato sleeping with other girls. There is Cato trying to kill me, and not stopping because the love is gone, and I don't mean anything. There is Cato calling me a whore, telling me I'm worthless. There is Cato comparing me to Glimmer, and Gia, and figuring that I'm nothing compared to them. And then there is me, alone, crying on Cato's grave.

I would have preferred having my skin peeled off while I watch, rather than have those images running wildly around in my mind. I would have preferred stabbing myself in the heart a thousand times, rather than have that be my reality. I would have preferred death -cold, scary, gruesome death- rather than having Cato taken away from me, one way or the other.

It is painful. Pain, pain, pain. And pain is everything, everywhere when I let nothingness drown me in the dark. Because nothingness is better than pain. Always better than pain.

…

I feel broken when I open my eyes.

Not scared, not sad, not angry, only broken – wrecked. Like I shattered in many small pieces, and failed in putting them back in their right place. There are cracks in my sanity; big, gaping cracks from where the pieces are missing, or from where they don't fit. I'm broken, and I can't be fixed.

It is a startling realization, because I wasn't raised to be broken. No, Clove Cavia was raised to be a killer, a winner. Kids of District 2 aren't supposed to break; we are strong, we are built to survive, we aren't _weak. _But those who demand us to be emotionless machines have never been stung by a tracker jacker. They have never felt their worst nightmares come to life before their eyes, and rip apart every sense of safety they ever had.

I'm laying half-way in the lake, my feet soaking in the water, and my upper body embraces the mud. I don't do anything else but laying there, hearing myself breathe, and letting the horror roam my shattered body. My face is tear-streaked, I'm sure, and I don't want to look up from where my sight is focusing on the mud. What if it isn't over yet? What if nightmares are the only thing which will face me once I look up?

"Get up." Cato's voice is gruff, and unmistakeable. Whatever he saw upset him, or at least made him angry, and that anger will probably be taken out on me. "I know you're awake, Clove. Get up." The fact that I'm not obeying him right away, angers him even more. But right now, I'm not in the mental state to care.

My mind is whimpering from the aching thoughts, and I fight the tears forming in my eyes. Even though I'm weakened by the evil which is surrounding me, I will still not let Panem have the satisfaction of knowing how broken their vicious Clove Cavia really is. The fight not to cry is eventually a fight I win, with only trembling lips as evidence.

A flicker of emotion run over Cato's face when I roll myself around, and he sees my ravaged one. His eyes soften just the tiniest bit, because there has always been something with Cato and me crying which makes him not act like such a jackass. Without a word, I do as he says, and get up on my feet. Layers of mud cover my body, and clothes, clustering in my hair, and there is surely some in my face too. I notice how the hair-do Ara so carefully set up on my head, has faltered into nothing, and my hair hangs around my face like the unpinned mess it is. I'm sure I look awful, but that doesn't even compare to the feeling inside.

"Tracker jackers," I state, searching my skin for any lumps. I find a few; on my neck, on my hand, on my stomach. Three stings was all that took for me to pass out, and the fact that my size is such a disadvantage at times, annoys me. Cato nods thoughtfully, and I notice the lumps on him; his neck as well, and hands, and surely some other places I can't see.

I'm dizzy when I stand up, feeling everything spin around me, and making me want to throw up. But just as my crying, I force it back, and become the cold Clove Cavia Panem is allowed to see. When I inspect my injuries even further, I realize Cato has pulled out the stingers, and that they will heal so much faster because of him.

Marvel is moaning from where he lays practically under water, and brings our attention on his groaning body. He doesn't move with the first, not before a tiny blow of wind whips some of the water into his face. He sputters, and gets onto his feet too, moving to join us where we stand unsure of what to say. There is so much pain, and unsaid ache which colors the air black, or whichever color pain holds.

"You okay?" Marvel breaks the strained silence, clearly asking both, even though his eyes are focused on me. But my face is already in the mask of emotionless stone, and ice, and I know no emotions of such horror I experienced is visible on my fake surface. Because if you can't make yourself not feel it, you have to cover it for no one to see.

He looks like crap himself, where water has run from his wet hair, and down his cheeks, making it seem like he is crying. And his dark brown eyes are filled with sadness, and even more sadness. Marvel of District 1 -the sparkly, luxurious 1- hasn't learned to put on the mask, and that is a great flaw for him.

"I'm _great_." Nobody escapes the sarcasm in my voice, and it makes the tense silence even tenser. That is the lash out I need for tears not to stream. Covering my wrong kind of emotions in hostile ones works, and it gives room for doing what needs to be done, and not following the heart like weaker beings might do.

Following the heart is dangerous, because the heart has dark, dark desires. Which should, or should not, be satisfied, depending on what they are. Undisclosed desires, which are meant to be wishes only, and nothing more. Acting on love, which everyone believes is the heart's biggest want, causes the greatest danger of all. And seeking danger is foolish, and only done by people not satisfied with their pathetic lives.

"Glimmer, and Kara?" I ask, knowing they are dead. I need it confirmed, because only then I can let the wall of emotion stir again. Kara is dead: satisfaction. Glimmer is dead: compassion? The only thing I can think about is her daughter in District 1, probably so young she is unaware her mother is dead. And her husband; it must be hard for him to lose someone as perfect as her.

"Dead," Cato says, emotionless, uncaring. And I know he doesn't wear a mask, because that is how he feels. I nod, but the rush of compassion I expect isn't there. Because compassion is a feeling I have never let myself feel, and I'm not sure if I can recognize it if it seeks me now. At least I'm closer to victory, or _Cato _is anyway.

Running my hand through my hair, I try to tame the wild tangles, while at the same time getting rid of some dirt. "We should go collect our supplies," I tell them quietly, and that is exactly what we do.

All three of us are in much worse physical states than what we were before the attack, but nothing beats the mental. My feet are almost being dragged against the ground as I walk, since I have really no energy to lift them. But the weight of my thoughts doesn't just sweep along the ground, also breaking the earth's surface, burying themselves deeper and deeper down, because they weigh so much, and I no longer have the strength to carry them.

Cato's eyes are on me constantly, only taking small breaks to watch the path ahead, as if he is making sure I won't faint, or do anything equally weak any time soon. Fainting seems like a great option now though, or sleeping even more. Well, sleeping seems amazing until I think about the nightmares I'm bound to have after this. I don't want to sleep anymore.

I don't know how many days we were living in the evil's paradise, but I know for sure -judging by the way a lot of the food amongst our supplies has either been eaten by animals, or taken by hungry tributes- that we were gone for at least two days, maybe even three.

There is a foul smelling, green liquid at the place where our camp used to be, and I instantly know that is the remnants of either Glimmer, or Kara. Probably Glimmer though, as she was sitting closest to the tree, and there is an equal green, large stain near the place Kara slept. It must be horrible for the little girl in District 1 to see her mother die that way, and I find myself wishing she wouldn't have to. I want to protect her seemingly innocent eyes from seeing her mother's body swell to the point of her becoming her double size, and dying. No child should have to see that.

It smells bad, and no matter where I turn, I can't escape it because it lingers so strongly in the air. But there is also something else lingering; a secret. It is Cato who is keeping it, and I want to know what it is. It strikes me though, that bread boy isn't here anymore, and that I failed in having my eyes on him at all times. "Where's loverboy?" I ask, but by then I'm already almost sure I know what the answer is.

Cato glares from where he is rolling a sleeping bag together, then he sneers evilly at me, with a short, mocking laugh beneath his breath. "You brought a traitor into the pack, Clove." I look down at the food I'm stuffing in a back pack, suddenly not able to meet his gaze. This time he actually has the right, a reason to blame me, as I did get him into our pack. "The good news though, is that I cut him in the leg. He'll bleed to death." Looking up at him, I see his gaze trailed on me – his eyes holding everything between earth and heaven.

I want to apologize to him for letting that traitor in, for being stupid, and making so much trouble for us (and that is another topic entirely, as a baby is the biggest trouble of all.) But I can't, both because of my pride, and because killers aren't supposed to apologize; they own no remorse. Who am I to stride from the path made for me already long before I was born?

The way back to our camp is tiresome, and mean, and I have to stop a couple times to fight the urge to retch, and then the urge to cry, before the urge to collapse overwhelms me. But I fight – I'm a fighter after all, and I will survive these pathetic attempts at setting me back fate, karma, or God is throwing at me.

Collapsing though, is exactly what I do once we get to camp. I barely have the time to roll out my sleeping bag before my knees give away beneath me. I'm just going to rest for a bit, not sleep, because that will bring horrible mental images. But Cato throws me a pack of crackers, and a bottle of already purified water. It reminds me of how he went to buy me that when we had gotten somewhat used to the thought of a pregnant me, and he had realized it was really the only thing I could eat without vomiting. It had been a nice gesture, one of the few Cato has ever made, and it felt like he had touched by my heart, just because he went and bought me a couple of damn crackers.

Our gazes lock for a couple of seconds, before Cato looks away, having giving me a peek of what is on his mind. He is coming to terms with the false truth, and I can't do anything right now to assure him this is just a scare. The world is plenty cruel, but not so much it lets this be true.

Sleep isn't an option, because sleep brings monsters, and creates pain. And instead of sleeping, I decide I will take a bath, trying to get some of this mud out of my hair. It has gone stiff now, and my tousled waves won't let me comb them with my fingers anymore. Definitely bath time. Cato insists on coming with me as my guard, as if I will drown, or find another way of getting myself killed just down by the water.

The air is chilly as I strip, but the sun is still shining, and it doesn't feel like it has been three days since we got attacked. I look around, the surroundings are exactly the same, though I shouldn't expect everything to change in three days. District 3 so kindly informed us of everything we had missed, and had kept the camp pretty well as we were gone. There is a sigh forming on my lips, as I see the bandage Glimmer knit so neatly around my stomach, which is hanging in shredded strips around my thighs. Removing it, I uncover the nasty burn, and gulp at how angry the wound seems.

Cato doesn't even pretend to look away as I undress, and sets his mouth in a grim line, and his forehead in a frown as he sees the state of my whole right side. He doesn't say anything though, but continues to watch with restless eyes as I undress. I decide to keep my undergarments on because I do not want the whole of Panem to see me naked, in my underwear is enough.

Cato is staring intensely at my stomach, as if he thinks he has got that x-ray sight all of a sudden, and can see if his child hides inside me. "There isn't anything in there, you know," I tell him, startling both myself, and him with my words. The silence around was so quiet, and my words ruined everything. But said is said, and I can't take the words back, even though I regret uttering them.

His gaze goes from my flat belly, and up to my face. A whole eternity comes and goes before any answer even graces his mind, but once it is uttered, I wish for another eternity to last so I won't have to answer. "How do you know?" he asks, as if I'm truth itself.

There is only one answer to his question though, and that is the one I give. "I just do," I tell him seriously. Because I don't know, and the baby will die, and it doesn't matter because I will too. Cato will win, and he won't know about the baby which is there, if it is, that is. Whether a baby lives in my belly or not, will forever be a mystery.

The water is cold as I step into it, and I embrace it the best I can. After a couple of careful steps, I realize the ground soon tilts downward, and leaves no ground beneath my feet. Before that can happen though, I kick with my legs against the ground, and push myself forward under water. I don't dare to go too far, because the lake seems so deep, and I have no wish falling into that blackness. The burn hurts like needles of pain when it makes contact with the water, and I clench my teeth. Ignoring pain has become one of my specialties throughout the years.

I try my best to get all the mud out of my hair, knowing how Cato likes to run his fingers through it. But then I laugh at my mind, knowing Cato won't get to do that in the Arena, that he won't get to do that again ever. I catch his eye from where I'm washing my hair, and his face is still emotionless, but his eyes hold so much. He wants to be out here with me, but we both know if he was, neither would be able to control themselves. He makes do with just watching me, longing for me with his gaze. And it is that gaze which makes me love him, and forgive him for being everything I'm not.

My teeth are clattering, and my whole body is shivering as I emerge from the water, the clear drops slivering their way down my skin, leaving goosebumps in their stance. My underwear is black -thank God- and didn't become see-through once it soaked. My man is still eyeing me, and especially as I make my way toward him, being that my clothes lay scattered around where he sits. I frown as I realize they are filled with mud too, and that there isn't any point in cleaning myself, if my clothes are still dirty.

Sighing, I grab them, and walk to drop them in the lake. It takes quite some time to get them clean, but I think I eventually manage alright. Once again, I make my way up to Cato -shivering- and lay the clothes to dry on a rock. After squeezing all the water out of it, of course. Cato eyes me with a '_really_?' expression, and wrenches them himself. A lot more water emerge from the fabric.

He then proceeds to give me his jacket to wear until my clothes dry. I sit down beside him, breathing in the silence, and his scent. Conflicting emotions race between us, and I know Cato is battling his urge to speak. But there are still no words to say. Yes, there are a lot of words. But we don't talk. We kiss, and we scream, and we touch, and we fight, and we unite, but we don't speak. Because what is there to say about a baby who is even more doomed than its parents?

"Tell me you don't think it's true," I whisper after a while of silence, needing his confirmation that this is just something my silly mind has conjured to entertain itself with. My mind has a sick sense of humor. I'm desperate to hear him say this is just a scare, to hear him confirm this is a lie.

A long time passes before he says anything, and when he does, he is still staring at the lake, not looking at me in any way. "I'm not gonna lie to you." The only thing to be heard then, is my ragged breath of fright. _That was what I thought._


	20. When Fear Tortures

**Author's note: **This author's note will be a long one, and I'd appreciate it if you would read the whole thing, because I'm going to rant a bit. Sorry, darlings.

Okay, so there are about hundred people who have subscribed to this story, and each chapter gets around three-hundred visitors after a couple of days. And I'm so grateful so many people are reading my story, I really am. But it leaves me confused, I guess, how so many click themselves into the latest chapter, and I assume most read it, but still don't review. I'm not really one to plead for reviews, but I'm an author, and reviews are my motivation. It only has to be a sentence telling me what you think about the chapter. Did you like any particular part better? Did you dislike something? What did you think while reading? Is there something you would rather have happened? Or is it something you would like to happen? You don't have to answer the questions, they are only help for what to review about. Do you have any negative thoughts about the story? Tell me! I'm not a little girl, and I can handle your opinions very well. But I do remind you there's a fine line between strong opinions, and bullying.

Reviews really help me when I struggle with the story, and give me motivation. And also every single one of your opinions matter, and I have them in my mind when I write. Because I love it when people get involved, but you don't have to be, of course. I'm only saying that a piece of all of your minds would be nice. Thanks.

And I'm sorry about the wait, but I've been stuck in a cottage for five days with some friends, with no Internet connection what so ever.

Enjoy the chapter!

An answer to ClatoShipper's review:

I take it you're not that fond of my portrayal of them? Well, that's fine. It's your opinion, and I respect that. But even though you obviously see the characters for what they are, I still think you fail to see the fact that they're portrayed that way with a purpose, and also, they have other sides to them than just the flaws you pointed out. I'm not trying to convey a couple of cold, perfect killing machines from District 2, even though that's their cover-up. They grew up knowing nothing but murder, but there were also other influences. Unexpected kindness almost, which made them doubt their fate as killers, and made them look other ways than the one planned out for them. They are broken children, who are clinging to each other because they are the other's hope, the only familiar thing they know, and I think it's just too bad how you don't like it, but, again, I love how you see them for who they are.

It's refreshing to hear someone tell me what they think as blatantly as you, and thanks for sharing your impression of the story. That being said, I suggest you tone down the rude undertone if you are to review someone else's story. A lot of people might take it the very wrong way, whereas I'm used to rudeness, being rude at times myself. Thank you for the review.

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><p>20.<p>

When Fear Tortures

The cruel pain;

When fear tortures

Making you scream, making you feel

How everything just got far too real

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><p>"<em>Crimson and clover, sugar and salt. Bittersweet and it's all your fault. Crimson and clover, sugar and salt. Mentally fucked and it's all your fault." Void And Null, The Pretty Reckless <em>

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><p>Cato and I haven't touched in five days. Like <em>really <em>touched. We haven't kissed, or caressed, or had sex, and the deprivation is driving me insane. Because the thing which has kept me sane through all these years are the nights with Cato. The nights in his apartment, or in the woods, or in the barn by the lake, or in my house when my father was passed out somewhere. Those nights where everything was about me and him, and what _we_ wanted, not the trainers. Those nights where only we mattered.

And the looks he sent me while I undressed before my bath teased my senses so badly, but I guess I was the real tease in that situation. It would have left me so wrecked to watch him bath, and know I can't join him, or even touch him for that matter.

Cato is still sitting beside me, looking out over the water. There's a silence, as usual, but this is a bad one. Not one which is comfortable because there are bad, and mean words, and feelings hovering above us in the air, and that makes the silence tense. We are waiting for my clothes to dry somewhat, so I can put them back on, and Cato will get back his jacket. It smells like him, the jacket. Like honey, and blood, sweet death, and flowers in the spring mending together and creating the best scent in the world.

Silences like this make me want to talk, just to get rid of the strained tension. Because I hate how it's so silent between me and Cato, and so much noise in my mind. To block out the thoughts, and the voices in my head, and to make the silence less quiet, I start to hum the melody my brother taught me. It's low, barely audible, but Cato's expression soon changes, and I know he hears it.

I'm humming the lullaby Leon used to sing to calm me down, and now I hum it to myself to soothe my own aches. It works, to some extent, as my thoughts wander off to my brother. My sweet brother, who was weak, but yet so strong. What would he think about his little sister now? What disappointed thoughts would roam his mind? _How did my sister become such a fucked up sadist? How did my sister manage to get knocked up at the age of fifteen, and maybe a second time at the age of sixteen?_

In this moment I'm glad Leon isn't alive to see me struggle, because then I would have seen the disappointed look in his eyes, and the loathe of me being his sister. I was a violent child, never hesitating in attacking someone I didn't like, or giving free punches if somebody taunted me about my height. Leon didn't like it the slightest bit, especially because I would come home, and rant angrily to him about how much I wanted to kill them, about how much I wanted to see their blood flow. Leon was kind, and he didn't like murdering, and violence, and blood.

Cato's gaze has left the water, and is now observing me. His expression has changed, from stone cold, to icily pained, like my whispering humming is too much for his ears to handle. Or maybe I'm just melting that lump of ice which is his heart? Like he melts mine whenever he acts human, whenever he treats me like I'm his angel, not his object.

The pet names Cato calls me are ones I can't figure out, because I can't think of a reason why he would think of calling me that. Little girl, I understand, as I'm small, and a girl. Bitch too, as I can be quite the cruel bitch at times. But then there is princess, which is a word I associate with pink, and dresses, and everything I'm not. And then there is _angel_. Angel is the name he calls me the most, and for what reason? There is nothing angelic about me. Neither in behavior or looks. Angels are supposed to be fair-haired, beautiful, kindhearted creatures, while my hair is black, my face is nothing special, and my heart is as dark, and cruel as the devil's.

Angel doesn't fit me the slightest bit, and I don't know how Cato found out he would make that my pet name. It doesn't bother me as much as I pretend it does though, as it gives me the assurance I need to know Cato is there. The word bears an ounce of Cato's warmth, and that is everything I need to function.

My eyes drop from his face, to his neck, where the thread of the necklace is visible from the neckline of his blouse-like shirt. It was a silly gesture by me, to make him that necklace. A weak attempt to prove that he is mine, to make him remember me. But my intention was for him to remember me when he was in the Arena, so he would fight harder to come back to me. Not that he would have it to remember me by when I'm dead. I guess my intentions always stray from their paths.

The necklace though, is made to exactly lay over his heart. I don't know if Cato has realized that, or if I even realized when making it. But it will be the only remnant he has of me when I'm gone, that is something I realize. Oh, how I wish it wasn't true.

Surprise comes in the form of a silver parachute. Surprise hits me, because after Cato's stunt of revealing our suspicion to the whole of Panem, I figured we had lost every sponsor we ever had. Because the tributes of District 2 are known to be brutal, and savage, not soon-to-be parents. The thought of someone having sponsored us, or rather _me, _because they _pity _me feels disgusting in my mind. I loathe the fact that some may send us gifts because they feel bad for the maybe pregnant teen tribute. What headlines are in the papers of the Capitol now?

The parachute lands neatly in my lap, having a small box attached to it. I don't want to open it, in fear of the fact that it's -indeed- a pity gift. But then again, it could be something essential for our survival, even though we seem to have everything we need. Staring at it, I make no move to touch the black little box what so ever, and that stirs Cato to life beside me.

When I look up him, he is staring at me with a frown on his face, and an impatient look in his eyes. "What are you waiting for?" he asks. "Open it." I just glare at him, before returning my sight to the alarming little box. After trying to see if I can conjure a x-ray sight myself, to see what it is there without having to actually open the box, but failing, I decide to just jump in it. And once I do, I jump right out, and smash the box shut. _No fucking way._

Fear, and shock claws at my throat, making it impossible to breathe, yet alone speak. My mouth dropped open, and I struggle to close it, to not seem completely paralyzed. Because the sight of this one simple object is more scary than any muscular boy who is supposed to spar with me, but is really out to kill me. I had sworn to myself that last time would be the last time I saw such a thing. Ever.

_I'm standing in the store, staring at the shelf in front of me. The shelf which holds my dread. It's funny really, how such an abnormal object can cause this gut-wrenching fear. It's funny, but understandable. As the thing is what will determine if my life ends or not. I prefer the latter._

_But just as my hopes, my preferences never do any good._

_Quickly, I glance around, feeling as I'm on a secret mission. Which I kind of am. But the secrecy isn't quite that easy as the mission is in public. Public and secrets never go well together._

_My hand reaches slowly for the item, but as my fingers touch its smooth surface, a well known voice says my name. A well known _annoying _voice, that is. I jump so badly I knock some of the shelf's content over and they scatter to the floor. So much for secrecy. With an angry scowl I turn to face the girl, who looks at me incredulously. Like she can't quite believe her eyes, but she soon snaps out of it. Her expression changes from disbelief to fear, to then be covered with her usual confident smirk. _

"_I didn't think you were one to be startled easily, Clove," Gia drawls and casually leans against the shelf beside her. And to my great irritation she doesn't bump into anything._

_Being that I am way too anxious to come up with a proper comeback I just say, "Go die in a hole." But then I get an amazing idea. A thought a genius worthy, if I can say so myself. "No, I'll kill you, and then bury you in a hole. At least then you won't have to get off your bony ass to actually move." I have to admit, it sounded better in my mind. But I think she gets the idea. _

_A flicker of emotions run over her face until she again settles on that confident smirk. "Well, at least I'm not the one eligible to become a teenage mother," she says, and nods to the shelf beside me._

_I'm seconds from losing my well known, and feared temper. I have to breathe deeply to keep from attacking her there and then. Killing often occurs in our district, and it's no big deal. But killing in public is frowned upon, unless it is the Peacekeepers, and from whom I've gotten my fair share of warnings; I'm not allowed to fight, or kill anyone. I've been in a lot of trouble for doing just that. But they often see through their fingers, as they could be the next target of my anger. Trust me, no one wants to be the target of my anger. _

_Gia looks at me, probably waiting for an answer. I snort. "Oh, really?" I raise my eyebrows critically. "We both know you're the one most eligible to get pregnant, _Gia_. After all, all you do is whoring around, and riding different cocks every night. Don't even get me started on the diseases you must have."_

_Her expression turns more angry with every word. "For your information, the only one I'm sleeping with is Mark."_

_I snort again, not believing her for a second. Gia is a self-promoting whore, and everybody knows it. It shows in how she walks, and talks, how she dresses, and most of all the looks she gives the opposite gender. Like she wants to lick them all over, before devouring them whole. It's disgusting. "Yeah, right." After all, sarcasm is my natural defense against idiocy – Gia has a lot of it in her perfectly curved body. _

_Her face is angry, because she might be stupid, but even she is smart enough to detect my very obvious sarcasm. But the angry line which is her mouth, soon gets replaced by a sly smile. "Maybe not _just _him." Her smile grows even more devious, and I know that whatever she is going to say will most likely either sting, or anger me. "Maybe I have fucked that boyfriend of yours." The accusation is like a poke in my already burning anger, and her smirk is getting far, far beneath my skin. _

_There are seconds before I lose control, and there will be poor, poor Gia. But then again, it will be poor, poor Clove too, as the consequences for attacking someone in public are something I'd rather not face. "Or maybe you're just delusional," I snap angrily, trying to release some of the anger through words. It doesn't help the least. She never gets the picture, she always has to test my fucking boundaries. _

"_Hmm.. Maybe." She smiles that smug smile, and I want to slap the smirk off her face, and I knit my fist at my sides to prevent it from hitting her face. Slowly, she leans forward, as if to tell me a great secret. "Or maybe _you _are the one being delusional." My patience is about to end, and she doesn't want to be there when it does. "Haven't you ever wondered where he is when he says he's with Mark?" The coward doesn't dare to come closer, and she remains standing a few feet away. "Maybe he isn't with Mark. Maybe he is with me."_

_Like Cato would leave _me _for _her. _Doubt suddenly sparks in the pit of my stomach, stirring the acid which is the source of my nausea. Gia is beautiful, definitely what guys will describe as 'hot' with her long blonde hair, pretty face, and perfect body, and most of all, she is willing. Maybe Cato got tired of little plain me, and went for a more beautiful girl? It must after all, bother him how he is stuck with someone younger, when he could easily have someone older, more experienced. "Don't you dare. He would never touch, yet alone be with a slut like you."_

_Gia laughs meanly, and then sends me a look of pity, as if I'm a little child, and she is the grown up, knowing so much better than me. But her laughter ignites every emotion of insecurity, and fear, and anger, _especially _anger, and I can feel it starting to burn in the pit of my stomach. It continues through every fiber of my being, to the tip of my fingers, and up to my head, making my face fluster in fury. _

_She notices the dangerous shade of death my face has grown, and we both seem to know it's no going back. Gia is frantically looking around for possible escapes, while I try to frantically grab my anger, and force it so far back into my heart that no one can reach it. Ever. _

_But just as my fist is about to fly and hit her straight in her pretty face, I can feel my arms being restrained, and held behind my back. "If you fight me, there will be consequences," says a voice I recognize as Aaron's. "Control yourself, Clove," he commands in my ear, gripping my wrists even tighter. My anger isn't willing to let go off me though, and rather tightens its grip too. I try to get free, to pry my arms out of his hands, and attack the bitch who's taunting me. Aaron notices my struggle, obviously, and tells Gia to go. She scurries away like the little terrified whore she is. _

"_Let fucking go off me," I tell Aaron through clenched teeth. "Damn it," I curse, as I struggle, his tight hold being too much for me to get out from. "Fuck you, Aaron," I hiss at him, knowing it's not that wise of me to talk like that to a man of authority. But right now, anger is being so damn stubborn that I don't really care. _

"_Not until you calm down," he tells me calmly, and I let out a growl to warn him. "Look at it this way," he tells me. "If you calm down, I'll let you go, you can buy whatever you came to buy, and go home. Or you can continue to fight me, draw a lot of attention to yourself, and make other Peacekeepers come too. Chances are that the others won't be as nice as me. It's your choice."_

_My heart is still racing in adrenaline, and especially anger, but the small rational part of my brain still manages to take over. Breathing in to soothe my raging fury, I feel myself starting to return to my usual cold self. "I'm calm," I tell him, noticing how some strangers are watching us with great interest. It's always funny to watch when someone get arrested, I guess. "Just let go off me."_

_He does as I say, and I whirl to face him. "Why the fuck am _I _the one who has to be restrained?"_

_Aaron sighs. "Because you were the one about to punch her."_

_I glare at him, not knowing why I'm always the bad guy. Yeah, that's probably right most of the time, but now it wasn't my fault. "She is the one who should be forbidden to walk outside her fucking house. She was_ trying _to anger me, even though she knows how I get when I'm angry. It's her own fucking fault for being such a stupid bitch!" My voice has grown in volume, and I know there are people eaves dropping on our conversation, or rather my growling. _

"_Just buy what you came for, Clove. You can find something to take that violent anger of yours out on later." Frowning angrily, I glare at him, before looking away as an unusual shade of red spreads on my face in embarrassment. I'm embarrassed because I know he won't leave me to buy my item in peace, and will rather stay pretty much glued to my side until he knows I'm out of public, and not about to cause any more trouble. _

_Aaron's gaze has settled on the floor, where the content of the shelf has scattered, and he looks at me with a frown on his face. "What did you come to buy exactly?" he asks me slowly, obviously wanting to believe those objects just randomly fell out of the shelf, and has nothing to do with my purpose on this shopping trip. What troubles me is why he seems to care at all._

_Staring at one particular spot on the floor, I hear Aaron shift uncomfortably beside me. Trying to ignore his confused gaze, I walk slowly toward the shelf, and grab the nearest, and most suitable-looking item. I start to walk away from the shelf which holds my dread, and feel Aaron following straight behind me, before coming up at my side. He says nothing, and the silence is demanding, judging, and it's like someone is whispering to my mind, _Walk of shame, whore. It's the walk of shame.

_The silence is tense between me and Aaron as I pay, the old woman behind the desk gives me a look of pity as she returns the left-over money. I hate those looks. Aaron follows steadily behind me as I angrily stride outside, clutching the brown paper bag with the scary content to my chest. Continuing to walk, he still follows me, and is the source of the judging, tense silence. I want to punch him, just so he would leave me alone. The only problem is that if I punch him, I'd be arrested instead. _

"_Stop judging me," I tell him through clenched teeth, continuing to look straight ahead. But I feel his gaze coming to rest on me though, and I let my hair fall like a curtain around my face, concealing me from him. _

"_I'm not," he says lowly, causing me to snort in disbelief. Dragging a hand -frustrated- through my hair, I snap my head in his direction to glare at him. But he seems unfazed by my glare, surely priding himself in being one of the few. "It's just that..." Aaron sighs. "You're only fifteen, Clove. This isn't something which should be...happening to you." _

"_How do you know how old I am?" I ask him, my flaming fury starting to build again. But it isn't Aaron's fault, because the ignition is the object in the paper bag. "And what do you care? I screwed up, okay? I fucking messed up, and he's gonna fucking kill me!" In fact there are more people who probably would want to kill me if it turns out to be true. _

_Aaron looks at me calmly, and I notice how we both have stopped. My breath is going fast in anger, and the calm presence of Aaron certainly doesn't help. "Clove, you're the most skilled, and scary fifteen year old in our district since probably ever. Everybody knows who you are." I don't really detect his comment as a compliment right away, and I'm annoyed everyone knows who I am, because the spotlight definitely isn't something for me. His forehead turns into a frown, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion, or worry. "Who? Who's going to kill you?"_

_Staring at him like he's stupid, I snort in annoyance and start to think he actually is. "Cato, of course!" I hiss at him. "Either him, or my father." Once again, I drag my hand through my hair. "Shit! They're gonna fucking kill me." The funny thing is that it's probably true. _

_Aaron stares at me back, but he's staring in realization. "Cato?" His eyes turn clear, as if he's suddenly finding his way out of the fog of uncertainty. "He's the father...of course." _

_That saying of his makes me wonder why I'm even spilling my guts to him in the first place, because this isn't something he should know. "Shut up, Aaron," I tell him. "That's none of your fucking business."_

_He raises his eyebrows in question. "You're the one who's telling me this." And the truth of his words makes me want to punch him. "Besides, I don't think Cato's going to kill you just because he...he might be...a father." He's so awkward when he speaks, it's obviously a topic making him uncomfortable. "It's not just your fault."_

_I laugh, even though there's nothing funny about the situation, and it makes me sound crazy. "Have you _met _Cato?" I ask, glowering at him. "In his mind, it'll be _my _fault, because he's the bossy one, and I'm just the fucking stupid one. _I _was the one who forgot to take the damn pill, and I'll end up all alone, because Cato is a fucking asshole who doesn't know shit!" My breathing is becoming even more heavy, and I clench my fists at my sides, digging my nails into the fleshy part of my palm, as if that will help me control the anger shooting through me like lightning. _

"_Calm down," he says quietly. "Just calm down, Clove. Anger will do you no good." He sighs as I can't seem to do what he wishes. "You're not stupid. Forgetting things happens even the best, stop beating yourself up about it. And if he's such an asshole, then why are you still with him?"_

_His words hit my like a slap in the face, because I have no answer to give him, I realize. Confusion takes over for a brief while, along with surprise, causing anger to be sat on hold. My nails come out from where they have made crescent-shaped wounds in my palm, and my forehead changes from an angry line, to a frown of hesitation. "I-I don't know," I tell him honestly. _

"_If he makes you that unhappy, maybe the two of you shouldn't be together." Why Aaron is giving me relationship advice, is beyond my comprehension. And if I can define what Cato and I have as a relationship is even more so. But my mind has big trouble figuring out why Aaron seems to care, when he's just another Peacekeeper who should be arresting me. _

_I blow out a breath of frustration, because I can't quite grasp the truth of my own opinions. "He doesn't make me unhappy," I begin, knowing that for a fact. "He's just...being Cato, I guess. He's mean, and cruel, and unfair, and bossy, but he doesn't make me unhappy. And even if he did, what does it matter? I'm not born to be happy, Aaron, I'm born to win, you know that."_

_Aaron sighs, and nods. "Yeah, I know," he says. "Come on, I'll follow you home." In reality he's saying, _Come on, I'll make sure you don't get into any more trouble today. _But I nod, just wanting to get home so I can assure myself that this is just a damn scare. Because what is the chance of Clove Cavia becoming a mother? The thought is so stupid I want to laugh. _

_When I open the door to my house, and I'm about to walk inside, I turn in the last moment, knowing I need to tell Aaron one last thing. "Don't tell anyone, okay? Gia is already spreading rumors, I'm sure, and I can't have people knowing anything of what I told you."_

_Aaron nods. "I won't tell, Clove. Your secrets are safe with me." I nod back at him in gratitude, knowing that if this secret was to get out, my life would be as good as over._

Cato stirs beside me, his next words tearing me out of the mental trip down memory lane. Cato's curiosity takes five years off his face, and makes him look like a little kid. Because genuine curiosity does something to him which I can never even begin to understand. "What's in it?" But he obviously sees my terrified expression, and it alarms him greatly, adding not only five, but ten years on his face.

"Nothing," I get out, too quickly, too unconvincing. I bite my lip, and Cato narrows his eyes, not believing me the slightest.

"Clove." The threat in his voice is undeniable, along with the growl his voice is. "What's in the box?" He is giving me one last chance to answer truthfully, before his anger will break free, and he will force the truth out of me anyway. Cato hates it when I lie. I shake my head, not willing to let him see the content of the box, because it is something which scares me greatly. _How fucking dare Enobaria do this to me?_

"Cato.." I begin frantically, trying to distract him. But I know it doesn't do any good, as he recognizes my attempt. Though my usual strategy for distracting him from ugly truths is getting naked. No way I'm doing that here. "It's mine, and I don't have to tell you what it is." In theory that's true, but it doesn't really apply to us, because Cato is the boss. What Cato says, goes, and if I have a problem with that it's really too bad.

He seems genuinely amused by my attempt to take control of the situation, and tell him that he doesn't get to know something. "Look who hasn't learned a thing these last couple of years." The taunting remark makes me look at him in defiance, trying to stand my ground, and not give in to him like I usually would.

"Cato–"

"Clove," he interrupts, his voice turning dangerous now, and I know I can't get away from this – unharmed, that is. "Give me the damn box."

Practically jumping to my feet, I grip the box in my hands, preventing him from getting it if he was to try and take it from me. "No," I tell him through gritted teeth, badly concealing my growing anger. "You're not in a position to command me around anymore, _Cato_," I tell him, even though it is so far from the truth as you can come. "You can't make me give it to you." I'm digging myself into a hole of lies here, because with Cato's muscles, and blue eyes there is nothing he can't make me do.

"Oh, really?" he tells me, as amused as he's angry. Getting up on his feet too, he towers above me, trying to intimidate me into giving him the sponsor gift. But those tricks don't work on me, as it's hard to be intimidated by Cato when I have seen his most vulnerable side. Besides, that I wasn't scared of him was one of the things which drew him to me from the start. "You don't believe that, now do you? You never were one to be naïve, Clove. Is it changing?" His taunting gets under my skin, and I resist the temptation of scratching the itch he is. The thing is to not show how much he's angering me, even though he already to some extent knows.

"Just go," I tell him. "Go away." I'm aware of how immature that sounds, but I really don't have anything else which he won't find a way to taunt. I take a step back, clutching the box to my chest. I can't let him see what is inside. When I'm alone, I'll take it to the forest, and bury it.

Cato raises his eyebrows, letting a smirk grace his face. "Then I'll need my jacket." I stare at him incredulously. With a glare, I start stripping it off, at the same time twisting my body away from him, with the small box cradled protectively in my arm. But as soon as -it wasn't avoidable- Cato reaches out to grab his jacket, he instead gets a good grip around my wrist, and spins me around. Pressing his chest into my back, having a tight hold on my chin, and his other arm around my body, I'm once again stuck in his arms.

I hate how he has me trapped, and how weak it makes me seem to stand in his violent, and unloving embrace in my underwear, trembling from the cold. The fact that he had me taking off his jacket angers me in itself, because -even though I have never actually said the words out loud- Cato knows how I feel about showing my body to everyone. He doesn't care, and now he has proved to -once again- be an uncaring asshole, as he carefully prying the box out of my hands.

Trying frantically to get out of his grip proves -as always- to be a great challenge, and I am now faced with the decision between clinging to the box for my dear life, or saving some of my pride, and rather getting out of Cato's grip. The choice fall rather heavily on the latter, as I know my box is lost to him anyway. He is so going to pay for this.

"Let go off me, you sick bastard," I tell him through clenched teeth, tearing his hand from my jaw. Of course, I wouldn't have managed if he hadn't somewhat helped. He got what he wanted, and is very satisfied at the moment. The box which was protected by me, is now in the wrong hands, and that box contains something which wouldn't normally be called a weapon, but in this case it can be used to knock every ounce of air from my lungs, and drain every drop of blood from my face.

He lets me go, as brutally as usual, and takes a couple of steps back to prevent me from grabbing at the stolen gift. My arms find their way around myself to still the shaking which has become of my body – goosebumps wrecking my otherwise so smooth skin. It's then Cato opens the box, his face freezing in a grimace of surprise. "Oh," is the only thing his mind can conjure, and he utters it, oh, so quietly, as if now is the time to show remorse for tearing it out of my grip.

Soon though, a frown reaches his forehead, and wrinkles his expression into one of confusion, and desperation, before being replaced with the usual stone. His gaze finds me, eyes shining as ice reflected by the blinding sun, and growls, "Get dressed." I'm about to protest, but decide against it, as I really need to put some clothes on, and besides, Cato would have interrupted me anyway, "Now, Clove. Get fucking dressed _now_. You're gonna take that test."

Dread is chasing me, and I try to keep up my speed so it won't hunt me down. But I know it's no good, as it eventually captures me with sharp claws, hooking deep in my heart. "Cato.." I begin in a pleading voice, but he doesn't want to hear it.

"No. Just get dressed." He sees the panic in my eyes, the panic, and desperation, but still doesn't care. "You're taking it, whether you like it or not." He doesn't care I don't want to take the pregnancy test.

…

Sometimes dread just punches you hard in the face. Like really, really hard, and the reason behind the hard punch? Realization. The logic mind of human beings isn't always that kind, because realization is cruel. If the logic part had been removed, would I be free to live in my own hazy daze of ignorant bliss? If it then is so, I wouldn't even hesitate ripping that part of my brain out, because dread isn't something I can fight. Dread can't be punched back.

I'm fully dressed now, in my half-dried clothes, and walking beside Cato the small walk back to our camp. He makes me eat, as if he wants to observe me like a rat in a laboratory. The crackers stick to my tongue, making me cough from the dryness. And Cato is judging me with his gaze, that bastard. _I knew it, _says his eyes. _I fucking knew it, you lying bitch._

But yet, there's nothing to know, and Cato is just fooling his own mind. Because what's the chance? What chance is there we have made another baby only a year after we lost our first? If I can't protect a baby at home in District 2, how the hell can I protect one here? Then I remind myself I won't need to protect something which isn't there. Because it isn't. I won't let it be.

Marvel isn't as stupid as I thought him out to be, and obviously notices the quiet fight between Cato and I. Without neither Glimmer, nor Kara to converse, the silence is demanding, and tense. He keeps his gaze elsewhere though, not willing to possibly anger Cato in one way or the other. Because if it's something Cato has been lately, on edge is definitely it.

"You should do something about that burn, Clove," Marvel says lowly, eyeing the burn on my side critically. My mind has been hold captive by panic, and fear, making me forget everything about the wound. Glancing hesitatingly down at the burn, I realize I have no idea what Glimmer did to it. It has definitely healed a lot since I got burned, and even though it still looks nasty, I know whatever Glimmer did worked amazingly. But -of course- I had been distracted while she tended to my injury, as I had been panicking about whether Cato was alive or not.

Cato sighs from beside me, and stands up. "I'll be right back," he tells me, before making his way over to our supplies. Marvel raises his eyebrows the slightest, and let an even more vague, amused smirk grace his lips, as he looks at me. It's like he's heaving his eyebrows as if to say, _You two? I would never have guessed. _His implying glance is enough for me to glare spitefully at him, hating how everyone seems to detect what Cato means to me.

"You'll lose," Marvel says, drawing my attention to him with a quick snap of my head. Confusion is visible between my eyebrows as a frown, and he seems to be waiting patiently for me to catch on. Then it's too bad I don't, and that Cato will be returning soon. "It's a game." It sounds like a threat, like he is telling me he's going to kill me, and then I would lose the Games, but there is that unsettling twitch of his eye, which tells me something else entirely. "Life. It's a game. You'll lose." He is speaking in short sentences, maybe he believes that takes the edge off his words. It doesn't though, and I'm painfully aware of how the biggest game of all is one Clove Cavia will lose.

"I know," I say, my voice softer than I will allow. My face isn't spiteful anymore, nor is it ice, as pain is flickering over my features, I'm sure, taking its time to make me look weak. Marvel isn't one to judge though, as pain was everything he held after the tracker jacker attack. Pain and sadness. But it seems like our roles are switched, and Marvel has stolen my mask of ice, and I have been handed his mask of pain.

Marvel makes a sound which resembles a sigh in the back of his throat, it's barely audible, and doesn't sound like any of the other hostile sounds I've heard him make. "What's in the box?" he asks, and I swear in that moment he reacts so much like Cato they seem like brothers. Even though their appearances don't suggest it, some of their similar behavior certainly does. The way Marvel's face lights up in child-like curiosity takes the equal amount of years from his face as it took from Cato's. It's funny to watch, because Marvel seems so serious all the time.

But I'm not going to reveal that frightening fact to him. "It's none of your business, Marvel," I tell him in a low, stern voice.

"Why? We're allies, Clove." Marvel seems so knowing, and confident in his way of speaking, and I want to grab him by the throat, and demand him to tell me what he knows. But instead I glare, because I can't afford to kill him, not yet. Marvel is an important piece in that game we're playing, and I need him to assure Cato will be the winner.

"Because it's _none of your business._" It's infuriating how he doesn't even pretend to be angered, and only smirks as if he knows everything. As if he knows me, and Cato, and what we're all about. Marvel has obviously picked up enough information about me to know that this is a wise time for him to stop bothering me, and he goes quiet, but his stare is still resting on me. I glare back.

Cato arrives, oblivious to our silent staring competition. Trying to read Marvel's mind is like finding a needle in a haystack; impossible. Simply, because I don't know him. But I know Cato's scent, and I know he's brutal, but still has a weak spot for holding me, and I know he doesn't like chocolate. I know what Cato thinks because I've seen what lays far, far beneath his skin. He isn't just that brutal killer, he's so much more.

"Lay down," commands Cato, and I do as he wishes, to prevent any other argument to break free. Cato's eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, and thought as I bare my stomach for him to see. "Is it really that hard not to catch fire?" he mutters under his breath, and I pretend I don't hear. I just watch his face while he tries to fix me up the best way he can. It goes very well, as he begins around my hip area, smearing the sticky ointment over my burn, and working his way upwards. Cato knows what he's doing, he always does. Whether it's food, medicine, or weapons – it's a skill he has, picking skills up like they were feathers on the ground.

The complication though, starts once he reaches my rib cage, and I realize I will have to uncover my one breast from my bra for him to reach the burn properly. Hesitation lingers in Cato's fingertips as well, and he stares as I pull my bra up, covering my breast with my hand. If he catches a glimpse of anything, I don't know, but a flicker of conflict goes over his face. Soon though, his fingers start working again, and I have to choke a gasp when he brushes against the swell of my breast. Cato recognizes the low growling sound in my throat, and smirks down at me. "It hurts, I know," he tells me. Suddenly his grin had disappeared, and left me instead with his dumb, mood-ruining words. Because those words don't imply it hurts he's tending to my burn, but rather how it is almost physically painful how we haven't touched in a long time.

His touch sends chills of beautiful pleasure, and warmth through my body, and even though I want more, so much more, I will take what I can get. I'm lusting for his touch so badly, his big, warm hands to roam my body so damn violently, and his teeth to nibble on my neck. But I can't have that, and I try to absorb everything of his finger brushing my breast again, like a sponge absorbs water. He takes much longer than necessary around there, and when he's done, everything I can stare at are his lips. His lips which somehow manage to be manly, and rough, while at the same time soft, and pleasing.

Cato notices where my attention has turned, and I can see his lips curve into another small grin. It annoys me how he seems to know how much I need him, and how he knows he's teasing me. "I'm done," he tells me as he finishes wrapping a bandage around my stomach, studying it intensely as he did. I try yo be quick when I get my clothes on, willing to expose as little as possible to Panem. The fast movements cause my half-dried hair to fall into my face, and I brush it behind my ears, annoyed.

None of us are in the state to hunt right now, so Cato decides we'll use the day to rest. "Clove," says Cato in that gruff, commanding voice. And I know that if I don't follow him like he wants, he will carry me, kicking and screaming. He walks away, carrying the black little box in his hands, expecting me to follow him. As soon as he is out of sight, I stand up, trying to ignore Marvel's questioning gaze.

"Where are you going?" he asks curiously, raising his eyebrows in question. District 3's head perks up, obviously listening in on our exchange from where he sits further away. Sometimes I forget he's even here, and he seems almost like a ghost wandering around our camp.

I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant. I hope I'm not failing too badly, as nerves are nibbling on my fingertips, making them shake. "Sparring, I guess. Don't know. Do I look like a mind reader to you?" Marvel narrows his eyes, but doesn't say anything more, and I continue on my way to the fucking end of my life.

It's so damn nerve-wrecking to walk the path Cato is making somewhere far before me, and I don't know what to quite do with myself. A sudden metallic taste embraces my tongue as I've chewed on the inside of my mouth in conflict causing me to start bleeding. _What the hell am I supposed to do? I can't do that. I can't take the damn test._

Cato suddenly comes into sight before me, leaning casually against the tree. He yawns, his arms crossed over his chest, and raises one eyebrow when his gaze finds me, as if determining whether I'm having his baby or not is something he does everyday. The little black box is on the ground beside his feet, mocking me with its presence.

My back grows straighter, and my head is held higher with every step I take toward him, as determination has finally hit. In the end, my stance tells him I'm not going to obey him, something which he obviously notices as his stance changes too. Standing before him, I gaze up into his eyes, with a serious look only this matter worthy, plastered on my face. "I won't take it," I tell him, altering my voice in a way which tells him I'm not joking around. "I don't want to take it, and you can't make me."

Cato gets furious when he's being defied this obviously, and I can practically see the steam of anger blow out of his ears. "I can't make you? We'll see about that," he growls threateningly, and usually I would soon give in to him. But now I'll stand my ground, not letting him bully me into listening to him, because I won't give in this time, I can't. I know I won't be able to handle it if the test is positive, and that it will be the end of my needed sanity.

"Cato." Anger isn't to be found in my voice, only cold seriousness. "You can't make me do this because I'll hate you for it. I'll hate you so much, and you can't live with that. You need me." I know I'm opening a gate for his anger now, because admitting his biggest weakness -me- to the whole of Panem is something which won't settle well with him. Because I know Cato needs me, if it's as much as I need him is unknown, but he needs me, and I'll use that to my advantage.

"So I need you, huh?" Every trace of Cato's anger is forced from his voice, as he is getting back at me in that way which hurts the most – the only way he knows. He smirks cruelly, walking to tower above me, so close we almost touch. My gaze never leave his mockingly cold one, and I expect the grip on my chin long before it comes. He uses his other hand to trace my cheekbone with his finger – feather-like soft, caressing me in the most cruel way, mocking me with the careful touch. "I wouldn't want you to hate me, now would I?"

My gaze is fastened on his, not willing to move away, not willing to obey. "Stop the act, Cato. You know it's true, you need me. What will you do if I leave you? Huh?" I raise my eyebrows, threatening him. I know I'm playing with fire, trying to get the upper hand from Cato, and I know I'm probably the one who will wind up getting burned. But I need him to at least understand, and I'm willing to take anything else he throws at me just to avoid the dreaded test.

Cato's grip suddenly tightens, and includes my jaw too, making it hard for me to say anything more. "Shut up," he hisses meanly, with a hint of panic in his voice. "You won't leave me, you can't leave me. Maybe I do need you, Clove, but you need me too. Especially if you're having my baby." My eyes widen in disbelief, as I can't quite believe those words just escaped his mouth. He smirks that mean smirk of his. "Yeah, I'm not afraid to say it, like you are. I'm not hiding like a fucking child, like you. You're scared, and it's pathetic, Clove. What happened to facing your fears, huh? Where did my brave little angel go?"

I can't handle this anymore; the taunting, and mocking. Grasping at his hand, I force it away from my jaw. Even though both of us know I couldn't have done it if he hadn't wanted me to – the way I'm always at his mercy gets far beneath my skin, and scratches, and claws, waiting until I snap. "I'm not pregnant, you asshole," I hiss. "Why can't you just believe me, and we can fucking live on with our lives?"

"You're a liar, Clove. You lie, and lie, and lie, and I almost always know when you do. You're not bad at it, I'm only really good at exposing you. But sometimes, I can't tell, sometimes I think your acting skills are getting far too good. I mean, who the hell was that flirtatious little creature in your interview? You're a liar, angel, and that's why I don't believe you." Even though his hand has left my jaw, he's still standing so close to me that we almost touch. "Tell me one time, _one fucking time _I've lied to you." He smirks meanly. "There aren't any, now are there?" His face twists into darkness, and even the smirk fades. "Now think about every time you've lied to me. Would you believe you?" He's right. Of course he's right, he always is. And I wouldn't believe a single word coming from my own mouth.

But there was one time he lied, one time I can tell him where he didn't tell me the truth. "You told me we both would get out alive." If I though his face was dark earlier, it doesn't even begin to compare to the utter blackness his face forms into. Angry, furious, mad.

He lowers his face until it's right before mine, and I can't help but expect his hand to slap me across the face, or to grab my jaw in a violent, bruising hold, or the classic strangling he has always been so fond of. "That wasn't a lie," he hisses in my face. "I don't lie to you, you fucking bitch. I've never lied to you, and what do you repay me with? Lies!" Surely enough, he grabs me by the throat, and slams my back into the trunk of a tree. "But this time you don't get to lie to me, and you don't get to do what you want. Because I have the fucking right to know. I have the right to know if you're having my fucking baby."

Clawing at his hand, I try frantically to get loose from his grip. Cato eventually lets go, having realized how I'm not able to breathe. "Cato," I say seriously. "I can't take that test. I just can't, okay? I won't, and you need to fucking deal with that. It's not your decision. I know it's probably hard to believe that for once there's a decision which isn't the great Cato Merquen's to make, but it is. It's my body, my choice, and you don't get to have a say in it."

He shakes his head, his blue eyes shining in disbelief, swimming in rare emotions. "That's where you're wrong, Clove. Because I need you to, okay? I need to know, and I need you to take the fucking test. Stop being such a coward, stop fucking hiding like a little child. I can't fight every battle for you, this is one you have to face yourself. I'll still be here, but you have to stop running, stop being so damn weak."

I don't know if it's the fact he's telling me I'm weak, and a coward, if it's he's trying to force me to take the test, or if it's just that he's being an asshole, but my anger won't let itself be contained anymore, and shoots through me like lightning. "No," I tell him, my voice low and dangerous, bordering on my usual mad growling. "I said no, you fucking bastard." I know I need to get away from him, rather sooner than later, knowing this will turn so damn ugly if we don't get separated soon. "Just let it go, Cato. Just back the fuck off." With those last words I brush past him, making my way toward the dark oblivion which is the forest.

"It isn't mine, is it?" His voice is back to its gruesomely playful, taunting tone, curling around my chest with fuel for my anger. But it's the words which really sting, which really, really put their claws far into my core of sanity. "That's why you don't want to take it, isn't it? Because you know the baby isn't mine." I stop dead in my tracks, my nails digging into my arms mercilessly, and drawing blood. Blood which trickles slowly down my arm, to my finger, and which drips to the ground. Blood flows even heavier in my veins, as it's mixed with hurt, and pain, and so much anger, so much blood red, crimson fury. "Whose is it then, _angel_? Anyone I know? Who's the father of your baby, _whore_?"

That's when I snap. That's exactly when the frail hold I've got on my anger snaps so violently, and loud that I'm not even thinking as I charge for him; it's a reflex. My first hand flies toward his face, and I'm not able to register through my angry fog whether it's a punch or a slap, but I guess it doesn't really matter, as Cato grabs my wrist, easily hindering my violent purpose. An inhuman, feral growl of a sound erupts from my throat, and the other hand flies toward his face too.

He just as easily blocks that attempt too, grabbing both my wrists and slamming my back into the same tree trunk as before. I'm fighting him with all I've got, and I know he's struggling with keeping me in place. The solution he finds is pressing completely into me with his great body, hindering my legs to kick him, and my body to wiggle out of his grasp. Cato's face is resting right before mine, where he carefully studies my anger up close. His expression is free from any mocking, and has turned ice cold, and serious while I'm screaming at him.

"I fucking hate you, asshole!" I scream, hating it with every fiber of my body how he's restraining me like this, making me unable to do anything. "Fuck you, Cato! Fuck you!" I'm still flailing wildly with my limbs, or at least trying to. He keeps scarily still, just watching me while I curse him, while I scream every profanity I know at him. He doesn't move.

Eventually, I calm down, having realized it's futile, because when I'm in Cato's arms, I'll be there until he wants to let go. I refuse to look at him though, keeping my head, and gaze to the side. I'm fighting the tears because Cato called me a whore, and believes I slept with someone else who isn't him. And I'm fighting the tears of fear, and anger, and every other mean emotion taking hold of my body. "I'll kill you," I hiss under my breath. "I fucking want you dead, you asshole." But I still don't dare to look at him, afraid the tears pooling in my eyes will stream down my face as a result of the sight of him.

"Then pick a knife," Cato says, immediately confusing me, and I look up at him, perplexed. The confusion holds the tears back as I observe his face. He isn't smirking, or taunting, he's being serious. "If you hate me, and if you want to kill me that much, then pick a knife." He lets go off me, taking a step back, giving me a lot of room to capture him the same way he just held me. "Come on, angel. You're thirsty for blood, aren't you? What's wrong with mine? Pick a knife."

It's a dare, and it's a game – one of our usual ones. But this one has taken an unexpected turn, where he's asking me to kill him? What the hell? Is Cato losing his grip on sanity? As always though, I'm not able to resist, and especially because fury is licking me from the inside, and making me explode in rage.

I do exactly as he says, I do exactly what he wants; picking my knife. It's quick, too fast for Cato to follow my movements with his eyes. But he has obviously anticipated it, and doesn't even flinch as I slam into him, pressing my blade to his throat. Instantly, I draw his blood, watching a couple of drops trickle down his smooth skin. Swallowing hard because the beauty of the blood is too much of a distraction, I glare up at him, pushing myself further into his body which again causes him to be pressed against the very same tree he held me against.

"Good choice," he compliments my knife-choice in a strangled voice, obviously having trouble with talking when a knife is pressed against his throat. Glancing down at the knife, I see the sharp, beautiful, barely curved one I picked, with a handle as black as onyx, contrasting beautifully to the small drops of crimson which are now staining the otherwise so silver blade.

My hand is shaking, and a wave of sadness is about to drown me, making sure to leave my eyes everything but dry. Our eyes have locked in an intense staring competition, where I know he sees the drops about to flow from mine, and where he lets me see the clarity of his, the naked truth, the weak plea. I bare my teeth to him, and let a growling sound erupt from my chest, trying to make myself slit his throat.

Even though Cato's eyes are so clear, and blue, and honest, telling me what he needs, what he feels, they still hold that taunt, that damn dare. He dares me to kill him, even though we both know I'm not capable of doing so. And what he feels, and what he needs? Me. Me and the truth, and the collection of fear, and sadness, and anger, and desperation, and confusion. Cato doesn't want to be a father, and I'm not supposed to be a mother. The truth is doomed long before it's discovered, something which makes fear squeeze my heart mercilessly. Mercilessly, because when has fear ever had mercy?

The whole of me is shaking now, trembling in uncertainty, not only my hand. And I know I can't kill Cato because he's everything, my one and only, the man I love, and I need him. I need him so badly it hurts deep, deep inside. Too bad the other thing I need -the beautiful haze of ignorance- is the exact opposite of what Cato needs. But does he need it so badly he's willing to leave me if I don't give it to him?

A ragged breath sounding much like a sob escapes my throat, and I add a bit more pressure on the knife, causing more blood to trickle. The tears seem to want to fall synchronously with the blood though, and that's why I let go off him, whirling around, and walk a couple steps away. Because if the blood stops flowing, so do the tears, right?

I'm breathing heavily, panting, as I try to gain composure over my wrecked self. Trying to make the tears stop pooling, and the overwhelming anger to stop raging. But just as I can't control Cato, I can't control my own damn emotions. It's not right. Nothing is right, nothing is how it's supposed to be, and Cato thinks I'm a whore.

I know he's nearing my back, and I consider briefly to lodge the knife into his heart. The anger makes that more than just a consideration, but my heart won't let me move the it, and it stays in my hand. He's standing right behind me now, I can feel his warmth through my clothes, even though we aren't touching. He won't touch me until I've put away the knife, I'm sure, as he doesn't want me to do something I'll regret. With a trembling hand, I put my knife back in my jacket, which is its rightful place.

My nails are digging into my arm now, wanting to tear the anger free in a stream of blood. But it doesn't work, because Cato knows about my need to feel pain to control my anger, and he easily grabs both my wrists from where he stands behind me, and separates them. Gently, he runs his fingers over the four small, blood-dripping, crescent-shaped wounds on top of my arm, and the bigger one from my thumb under. How dare he act so caring when he was being so mean earlier?

Tearing my arms out of his grip, I turn around in one quick swirling motion. I stand up on my tip-toes to have a better view of his eyes, and so I can glare into them so much easier. "I'm not a whore," I hiss lowly at him. Anger is still strangling, and is still being cruel, and I let that cruelty from my fury out on Cato. "It's yours, Cato," I whisper with my trembling voice, sadness, and hurt suddenly being everywhere. "Of course it's yours." But since I'm such a liar, what reason does he have to believe my words?

I'll prove it to him, and that's why I brush past him, on my way to the black little box beside the tree. Picking it up, I turn around, starting to walk to find an appropriate bush. Cato is just glancing after me, I know, and I'm doing this because of him. Because Cato wants to know if we're having a baby or not, and I can't deny him that. What wouldn't I do to keep him by my side?


	21. When Truths Are Revealed

**Author's note: **I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, I appreciate it so much! The constructive criticism was very helpful.

I know I haven't updated in ages, and no, that's not because I waited for a certain amount of reviews. Stuff keeps happening, and lately it has tried to drown me. You're probably tired of my shit keeps happening excuses, but sadly, those are true. I won't give up the story, and I appreciate it if you all would just bear with me. Thank you.

And yeah, I know this chapter is short. Writer's block obviously doesn't want it any longer. But hey, at least you know the result now, right?

- Drea

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><p>21.<p>

When Truths Are Revealed

The unbelievable discovery;

When truths are revealed

Ugly facts which will make you shiver

Hurts too much? Cry me a river

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><p>"<em>So many fears were swimming around and around in my mind. Who would have dreamed the secrets we would find? I've found a world where love and dreams and darkness all collide. Maybe this time we can leave our broken world behind. We'll be together again." Together Again, Evanescence<em>

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><p>It's a strange feeling, not being able to feel yourself. I can't feel anything except my heart slamming against the cave of my chest, and the bitter nausea in the pit of my stomach. Nervousness is making me sick, but I'm glad numbness has settled to take care of the rest of my body so I don't feel like the wreck I am. My heartbeat is thudding loudly in my ears, the metallic taste of blood lingers strongly in my mouth after the countless chews on my bottom lip, and the tension of fear, and other suppressed emotions coloring the air the shade of dread, smells like doomsday itself.<p>

There are a lot of times I've caught myself in almost destroying the test – the source of the truth, just because my nerves are making me clench my hands into fists. But with the last remnants of my will-power, I force them to open, so I can continue this torturous waiting time. "Clove." Cato's voice is gentle, and I know he's watching my pacing form from where he's sitting leaning against the trunk of a tree. That's all I've been doing for about five minutes now, pacing back and forth, while counting the seconds silently in my head. Of course I lost track of my count when he talked.

"Shut up," I hiss at him, trying to resume the silent counting, knowing that when I hit eight minutes, my fate has been determined. "Just stop talking." And for once he listens to me, but I know it's probably because he doesn't know what to say.

Seven minutes.

Have you ever been about to drown, and felt the suffocating feeling of not being able to breathe? Felt water come inside your lungs just because you're sputtering for air, and felt water just drown your insides to the point of total panic? No? Well, not me either, but I figure it would feel somewhat like I feel now. Drowning in my own despair, and choking on the fear.

When I've counted the last second, I stop dead in my tracks, feeling as if my point of total panic is clawing itself free from where I'm trying to keep it buried. "Oh my God, Cato," I manage, knowing he's listening even though I'm facing pretty much away. "Fuck." My breaths are getting shorter, more frantic, and I know if I don't pull myself together I'll start hyperventilating. Cato gets up on his feet, arriving me carefully as though he might think I'm about to go crazy and try to punch him, or do something equally violent. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." I'm gasping now, afraid I might lose my breath completely.

Cato cups my cheek roughly, forcing me to gaze into his eyes. "Breathe," he instructs, as if I wouldn't do that if I had only managed. There's no time to glare at him, as my whole world is his eyes now, his blue, blue eyes and nothing more. Slowly, my breathing goes back to normal, finding the needed calmness in Cato's clear eyes.

"I can't look," I whisper frantically, trying to wiggle out of his grip. "I can't, Cato. I can't." I know my fear is openly showing by now, but I'm not really in a state of mind to care. He removes his hands from my face, obviously having realized how he seems too caring, and far too little hostile when he tries to help me find a decent path through my despair.

He blows a harsh breath of air, hitting my forehead as I'm standing right before him. Dragging his hand nervously through his hair, he searches my eyes, the evident dread obvious in his. "I'll do it," he says eventually, after a bit of hesitation. "Hold it up, angel," he says.

Now I'm hesitating, knowing I'll be able to read the answer on Cato's face, and I'm not sure if I'm ready yet. But who would want to know the end of their life? I look up at him, as if asking if he's sure, because I know that test will show the answer. Hundred percent correct – obviously from the Capitol, as the one back homes have room for a failing answer. That's what the lady at the clinic told me, that the test I took back home could have been wrong, but that I shouldn't get my hopes up. Even though she warned against it, I got my hopes up, only to get them crushed as I took another one at the clinic.

It's funny how that little plus or minus, one line or two lines, blue or pink, can determine so much, being such insignificant things. Cato nods, assuring me he's certain. Swallowing hard, I hold the test up for him to see. Cato seems confused at first, making this torturous silence even longer. Then I watch carefully as his eyes widen in realization, the world standing still for what seems like a minute. But then he utters one word which promises nothing good, and which really is the final answer. "Fuck," he repeats my statement from earlier.

That's when I know. When I know our suspicions weren't just suspicions, and our fears come true. But I can't quite fight the blossoming hope that Cato saw wrong, and I know I need to look for myself. It feels like someone punches me in the stomach, and all the air gets beat out of my lungs. The test says a clear 'Pregnant' in bright pink letters, as if that's something to celebrate.

Everything is so utterly quiet and I can hear the cruel sound of myself breaking. The world becomes so drained off everything else which isn't the horror of truth, and all I can do is get out a strangled whimper. This isn't right. This isn't fair. This can't be. The sane part of my brain tries to convince me this is a trick, an illusion, to make sure I don't go insane, but the logical part knows better, as the evidence is stated so firmly in my hand. It's a sudden realization managing to set me on fire, while still being the ice in my stomach. _I'm pregnant._

Anger. Everything is red, crimson, flaming, familiar, raging anger. And I throw the test as far as I can, throwing it as I would've done with a knife. But getting the evidence of a little _thing's _existence out of my way isn't anywhere near enough, and I slam my fist angrily against Cato's chest. He isn't surprised at all by my outburst, but still lets out a grunt of pain as my knitted fist hits his flesh. It's his fault. Everything is his fucking fault.

Cato is muttering something under his breath, but the blood is pounding through my head so badly I can't hear what. "I hate you," I hiss, my voice wavering shamefully. "I fucking hate you, you bastard." He lets me pound on his chest, because eventually, I stop, only holding on to the fabric of his shirt. My breath goes rapidly, and there are tears threatening to spill from my eyes. Instead of pushing me away, Cato lets me stay there, almost burying my face in his chest. "Fuck you," I mutter. "Fuck you!" I hit his chest again, and this time, he grabs my arm.

The look on his face is one of such perfected nothingness that I'm not sure if my Cato is there anymore, or if he has been replaced by some kind of machine. But as time passes, and as he searches my face, I can see his eyes slowly starting to soften from the sight of the tears in mine. Yet again, and as so many times before, there are so much to be said, but no words to say it. And we remain silent, watching the other's face carefully. It's like he is waiting for the tears to fall, while I'm waiting for the anger to overwhelm him, and make him punch a tree.

"Are you gonna try kill me again?" he says after a while, causing me to glare furiously at him. How dare he joke when we just got those news? How dare he joke when he fucking got me pregnant, and our lives are doomed for even more disaster?

"It's not funny," I snap at him angrily, seeing his facial expression change from cold, to just serious. No, there's nothing funny about this situation. It's a fucking tragedy. My anger has calmed, and the crimson in my vision is going back to normal. Anger is replaced by fright, and all I can do to keep my teeth from shattering, my hands from shaking, and my eyes from leaking, is staring at one particular spot on Cato's chest. I know my eyes are mirroring the fear itself, and that the noise of how it chokes me lingers in the air around us, though still can't be heard. We feel it.

"Oh God," I gasp, my breath having finally caught up with my heart rate. "Oh God." Because saying God's name seems to be the only rational thing to do at the moment, as everything in my mind as been wiped out by numbing shock, and replaced with pure blankness. There is something _growing_ inside of me.

My fingers have curled into the fabric of his shirt, and I'm clenching it in my fists tightly. And he's still letting me stand there, he's still not pushing me away. "Damn it, damn it, damn it," I'm gasping under my breath, even though weak curses can't even begin to describe the mess this has come to be.

But as I agreed with my mind earlier, this doesn't change a thing, because at the end of the day, Cato is still the one going home. This doesn't change a thing, and I know I'll need to pull myself together, to save what's left of my dignity. The so-called God knows keeping my pride is the most important thing when I die, because that was what my father taught me. The mere thought of disappointing him is wrong, because I need him to approve of me. Even though something tells me approval is pretty much impossible to reach after this stunt.

Cato doesn't interfere in my attempt at pulling myself together, and for that I'm glad. Eventually, I look up at him, having to see what lays in his eyes. And to my big frustration there's nothing. With numb fingers, I let go off him, and take a step back. The emotions in my chest are trying to find a way out, but with a determination I didn't know I possessed I manage to straighten out my expression, and make the tears go away.

My hands are shaking at my sides, and I strain them in hope they won't lay themselves on my abdomen as they seem to really have the urge to do. At times like this, my body obviously acts before my mind, and I find my palm pressed against my stomach. Looking down at my pale hand, I try to feel the flutter of last time. But it's not there. The emotions trying to break free suddenly start a full rebellion on the inside, lightening me with panic. The thought of losing another baby is one so dreadful I'm hurting by the mere thought of it.

My gaze returns to Cato's face, where he is watching me carefully. I can't let him see that vulnerability, I can't let _Panem _see that vulnerability, and I tear my hand away. Shaking my head, as if that can shake the thoughts out, I glare my usual cold glare at him. "It's nothing. This changes nothing." But even though it doesn't for me, I know it does for him. It will be so much harder for him to watch me go, knowing I'm carrying his child. Or at least that's what I'm hoping. "Nothing," I repeat in a hiss, before turning to walk away.

But as always, we aren't done before Cato says so, and he grabs my arm, whirling me back around. "Clove," he says, but stops at that. And there it is again, that feeling of having so much to say, but yet can't because we don't know how.

"What?" I demand, my voice rising into a frantic pitch. If he doesn't let me go soon, I know I'll throw a fit, or even start crying. Because it all makes so much sense now – the throwing up, the crying, the weird smells. It all makes sense because I'm _pregnant_. "What?" I say even louder, my voice strangled, choking on captured tears.

"Nothing," he repeats, and if that is a statement or a question, if he's agreeing or if he's denying, I don't know. Eventually he lets go off my arm, and with a last search of his serious eyes, I turn to walk away.

"Don't follow me," I hiss, as I hear him start following me. "Go away, Cato." He stops, and I start running, knowing I just need to get away. The sobs are clawing at my throat, but I know I can't let them out. There's only one thing I can do which will help me gain control; throwing knives.

The knife has hit the trunk of a tree even before the thought has become coherent in my mind. It's like relief is being injected with a needle, and flows strongly and purely into my veins. _Twack! _Another tree. _Twack! _The bulls eye. _Twack, twack, twack! _I try to make everything about the knife in my hand, but I can't. Not even as my knives fly around me, making those familiar sounds as they lodge themselves into my targets. I still can't take my mind off the creature inside me, and it drives me insane.

A thought which truly horrifies me, is that I can just lodge the knife into my stomach, and everything will be over. The pain, and the anger, and the fear. Everything will just be gone, because then I'd die, and it would all be fine. But I would kill my own baby, I would betray Cato in the worst way, and I would lose every ounce of pride. Suicide isn't worth it, because I need to be alive. For Cato. Because I owe him everything. But then again, I owe my baby everything too. I owe my baby a shot at life, and it tears me apart, slowly, painfully, from the inside how I can't give him, or her that.

When all my knives are lodged into their targets, I sit down on the ground, and cover my face with my hands. I just need to escape from the Arena, if only for a couple of seconds. I need to be back home in my own bed, with the blanket which was my mother's. That was where I spent a lot of time after discovering I was going to have a baby the first time around. But now there is no bed, nor no blanket. There is Cato though, but he's too prideful to comfort me. He has spent too many years building his reputation to throw it away on me, and I understand that, because if I had had a reputation like Cato's, I wouldn't have thrown it away either.

It's peaceful where I'm sitting, and it reminds me so much of the woods back home. Where Cato and I often went to get away from everything. And that's the only reason why I don't scream like I want to, because peace is so hard to find. Especially in a competition where the goal is to murder one another.

But I haven't even thought the thought through before a shuffling sound interrupts my inner conversation, and I'm instantly on alert. My head snaps up from where it's buried in my palms, and I'm ready to attack whoever it is. But it seems like I don't have to because the person coming into sight is Cato, and I can't do anything but glare at him. "I told you not to follow me," I tell him coldly, letting the barely strained anger seep into my voice to show him I'm not joking.

Cato's expression matches my tone as he looks down at me. "You knew I would." I stand up as he comes closer, not willing to remain sitting and let him tower above me. "I don't trust you to not do anything stupid when you get like this." It's unfair of him to mention something like that in front of Panem, because he makes me sound like a little child. My glare burns brighter, and it's all I can do not to slap him, or attack him in some other way. I still haven't forgiven him for getting me pregnant for the second time in a year and a half, and he doesn't need to do anything more for me to forgive, because chances are that I'm not that forgiving.

"Oh, look at who's worried," I say meanly, trying to get back at him in the only way possible. I smirk at him sarcastically. "You have a heart, Cato? Would never have guessed."

It doesn't settle well with him, my trying to get revenge. "Someone has to make sure you don't go and try to kill yourself again." His words immediately slap the smirk off my face, and I can't help but stare at him incredulously. It's one thing, making me seem like a child, but making me seem weak? Fuck him.

I shake my head in disbelief. "I can't believe you said that, Cato. Screw you." I brush past him, bumping forcefully into his shoulder as I pass. It's not even true. I never tried to kill myself. Or at least I didn't intend to try and kill myself. I'm not weak. I can handle whatever the world throws at me, but it just hurts more when Cato is the one throwing.

"Clove," he growls from behind me, but I continue my steady pace. I'm pregnant. This isn't a scare, it's the truth. I'm pregnant, and in the Arena. A part of me wonders if the tracker jacker venom is still in my system.

…

It's starting to darken outside now, and there is a strained tension looming over our heads. Cato has decided we get a couple of hours sleep, so we can start hunting at night. Yet again, he threw me some dry crackers, and all I did was glare at him, not touched by his gesture this time. It reminds me of the baby, of our baby, who's growing inside me. I don't know when I got pregnant, I have no idea. But even though I do feel different, there's no flutter. Not that gentle little fluttering from last time assuring me the baby is fine. It's enough to make panic choke me again.

I guess it will take time to get used to the thought of being pregnant, but I've accepted the fact by now, knowing no good comes of denial. But rather being scared of finding out I'm having a baby, I'm afraid my baby is suffering. Even though I'm supposed to sleep, I can't help but lay awake, thinking about everything. It's not like I can get some sleep anyway, not after those news. Apparently, Cato is less faced, as he's heavily asleep on the other side of the camp fire.

Marvel is sat to guard, and is studying the crackling fire intently, as if he's avoiding me on purpose. We both know I'm awake, it doesn't take a genius to know when my eyes are open, and my breath uneven. District 3 is laying a longer distance away, wrapped into his sleeping bag, and snoring lightly. But my focus doesn't linger on him, as he's not the least interesting. Not that I can say that Marvel is any more so, but at least I can see his non-wavering face, illuminated by the flames.

"What do you want, Clove?" Marvel says suddenly, startling me a little because I didn't think he was going to acknowledge me. He's still staring at the fire though, and he makes no move to actually look at me.

I hesitate for a while, not knowing what to say. "I want to kill," I say eventually, knowing I'm right. Because killing will be a relief, a distraction. And if it's something I need, it's a distraction, something to get my mind off things.

Marvel snorts, and turns his head to look at me. "Must be hard being you. Killing's the only thing bringing satisfaction." There's a knowing look in his eyes, and I know he's both mocking me, and judging me at the same time. "Is that what you really want, or are you just playing the game?" The small smirk on his lips is unmistakeable, and creeps under my skin, like Cato's finger along my spine.

"Why the sudden disbelief, Marvel?" I decide to mock him back, sneering at him. "Haven't you known me long enough to know the answer to that yet?" Marvel seems amused by my answer, and I can't think of a reason why. It's true after all, what I want. It might not be what I want the most, but that can't be uttered.

"There's more to you than that, stop kidding yourself," he says, eyeing me with a knowing look in his eyes. "You're just afraid to seem human, because you think you don't stand a chance if you do." He says the words which such surprising casualty, and knowledge, and I hate how he thinks he knows more about me than I do.

A while passes before I answer, and I swear I see Marvel jump inside himself at my words, obviously having figured I wouldn't give a reply. "There's nothing human about this place." But then again, I was never raised for humanity.


	22. When It Matters

Look Drea is back with a new chapter after having been kind of neglecting this for a long time! Yaayy. And yeah, I'm terribly sorry for that..

I told the lovely people who have been asking about this story on tumblr that I would explain my absence, and I think I pretty much can do so in one word.. Life.

Yeah, I know I've used this excuse before. But life just happens, and mine happens to get in the way a lot. But I'm back now, and I love you all for sticking by me for this long. I don't know what I did to deserve you guys, you're the best!

Now, I hope you'll all enjoy this sad attempt of trying to put my story back together.

- Drea

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><p>22.<p>

When It Matters

...

"I am the one to protect you from your enemies and all your demons. I'll be the one to protect you from a will to survive and a voice of reason. I'll be the one to protect you from your enemies and your choices. One in the same, I must isolate you. Isolate and save you from yourself." Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums, A Perfect Circle

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><p>All I ever wanted was to make my father proud.<p>

All I ever wanted was for him to nod at me in approval, to tell me I did a good job, or even for him to smile at me. It was all I wanted since I was a little girl. I wanted to be someone he could be proud of, someone he would show off, and say, "That's my daughter," with a proud grin. It became everything. That wish, that damn desperation to mean something in my father's eyes. I would have done anything, and I sure as hell tried everything.

But no matter how steady my aim got, or how many training fights I won, it was always something wrong. _You weren't quick enough, try that again. Do you call that a punch? I didn't fucking raise you to be this pathetic. _And then there are those words and sentences which my brain is trying its best to forget, to pretend was never uttered by the man whom I admired the most. But I can't, of course. They are stuck, burnt into my brain forever. _Failure. Weak. A shame. Worthless. _It's those words which make me push my self harder, which have made me push myself to beyond everything healthy. I fucking pushed myself to the point of passing out multiple times for that man, and still I'm just the pathetic, worthless little abomination he regrets fathering with his whole being.

What if I become like him?

What if the thing inside me becomes like its wreck of a mother because of me?

I would never be able to forgive myself.

Despite having grown up as a Victor's daughter, I never was walking down the primrose path, as everyone else with my status seemed to. It was blood, sweat, and tears from the second I awoke, to the second I fell asleep, every day. Well, not exactly tears, because I'm not allowed to show any kind of emotion, especially not one as pathetic as frustration, or God help me, _sadness. _The perks of being a Victor's kid never applied to me, which only motivated me to work harder for my goal.

I want to be able to provide for my family. To make sure my kid won't go hungry, and gets the training he or she needs if he or she was to get picked to play this game of death. I want to have everything I was taught never laid in my fate, and it isn't before I know I can't get it, I've realized I do actually want to start a family with Cato. No matter how nice being feared, and being known as one of the most skilled murderers District 2 has ever seen is, I still want to be something more too. I don't want to be one of those sad women who marry just because it's expected of them, or one of the overly prideful Victors who stay lonely because getting married would ruin their reputation. I want to be something more, I want to matter. I want to prove to Cato I matter, and that asking me to marry him was the wisest decision of his life.

Though these thoughts stride against everything I am, and everything I've been taught, against my nature, I still find a merciful comfort in them. Knowing how all this might have been possible if the circumstances had been different. That Cato and I might have had a shot at being happy, and just continuing to break all the rules in District 2's book. But of course, no matter how much my brain wishes for these things, actually doing them seems like the most impossible task. What do I know about families, love, and just not being a murderous, sadistic, insecure excuse of a masochistic bitch?

Those thoughts are always there, whirling in the back of my mind, because the front is occupied by the more drastically tragic realization. Before I realize it's not weird I'm insane being how much I over-think even the slightest little detail. It tires me out, mentally, hell, even physically, which probably is exactly what I need laying down and pondering all this. Marvel is still guarding, either figuring I'm asleep, or just ignoring me, either way, I'm not sure whether to be happy or not about that fact.

The big camp fire separates the three of us, feeling like a big void between Cato and I. A big burning void, which I will die trying to cross. And it isn't before I look over at Cato again, I realize my mistake; it doesn't separate the three of us, but the _four _of us. It's such a stabbing realization, even more now when I'm almost asleep. It leaves me breathless, and I can't help but clutch at my chest, before my hands clutch at my stomach. It's almost like my body tries to tear the baby out, but I know I wouldn't allow myself to do that even if my mind had wanted to.

Abruptly, I sit up, knowing I caught Marvel's attention with my sudden movements. There is air but I can't breathe. There is truth, and even though I can see it, it doesn't make it any less surprising and poisonous. But there are good kind of poisons, aren't there? I get up on my feet, not paying any mind to Marvel, just returning the favor, before I find my water.

The sky is clear, enlightened by a thousand stars. But of course, being made by the Capitol it's probably as fake as the city itself. Illusions are everything people live for, because without them we would actually have to see the terrifying reality. Why is my reality of being fearless falling apart into an illusion? But an illusion or not, I'm going to do everything in my power to assure my baby -the thing- gets out alive, along with its father. Wow, now _that's_ an illusion.

…

The sky is still clear, but now the shine of the sun lights up the skyline rather than the stars from of the night. The previous night was cold, even with the camp fire brightly burning just a small distance away, and I'm glad the sun rose high. But then again, the sun might be burning a bit too bright for my liking. It's like they have sat a toddler to play with the devices controlling the temperature, and the heat and the cold fall and rises uncontrollably.

We have taken our time to recover, and another night has passed us by. We have problems working as a team, the three of us, being how Marvel and Cato seem to constantly bicker. I mean, Marvel fights more with him than I do, but unlike me, Marvel gives in, knowing he will be dead if he doesn't. It's not like Marvel doesn't have a few tricks of his own up his sleeve when it concerns skills with weapons, and sometimes I'm actually scared for my man. But Cato just happens to be a bit better, a bit stronger, a bit bigger. Also a bit more bossy and cocky, I should add, but it's clear that if it's someone who has the last word in our trio, it's Cato.

I try to act like a peacemaker the best I can, but with my own violent tendencies I can't say I'm any good at it. Though I can't say neither of them is really trying to withhold the peace, I know Cato is the real problem. You don't see Marvel and me trying to rip each other's throats out. Cato is trying to provoke, trying to get a reaction out of him, as if that will be the reason he needs to kill the other guy. He is getting on my nerves too. But it isn't what Cato says to me which is the problem, it is what he _doesn't _say. It's like this wall has been put up between us, and while I'm painfully knocking on it until my knuckles are bleeding, trying to get through, Cato has sat down and isn't even trying to tear it down.

I swear the tension is so thick in the air that if I open my mouth, I'll choke on it. He hasn't uttered a word to me, or at least a not threatening or commanding one, since we exposed the truth. I'm left alone to deal with this – this _thing. _This thing forming inside of me and which I don't know what to feel or what to think about. I just know it's a thing in there, and that the thing is Cato's too, and that he should at least pretend to care.

My thoughts are running in a vicious cycle – I should hate the thing, I hate Cato for putting it there, I try to hate the thing, I fail to hate the thing, I get mad because I can't hate the thing, and I realize that I can't hate Cato either. Then the whole thing repeats, and repeats, and repeats, and wears out my mind to the point of complete exhaustion. I don't feel like doing much, and plotting for the game we're in doesn't seem appealing at all.

This morning we killed the crippled kid, and I had to hear Cato complain about the lack of fun because he couldn't run from us. I can't count how many times I've rolled my eyes, or how many times I wished I could hit my man unconscious without suffering his wrath when he he wakes up. Don't get me wrong, I love him and all, but I'm not the only one who has a certain 'mood'.

Cato is convinced I have these moods and when I'm in my 'miserable' state of mind, as he has so sensitively named it, he has openly admitted he tries to stay away until I get into a mood he prefers. Like my 'sexy' mood, or 'blood-thirst' mood. Once he also claimed I had a 'pathetic' mood, but the second those words were uttered I soon turned into my 'rage' state and he never said it to my face again.

I feel like he is in a 'fuck my life' mood, and that is something he often takes out on the people and things around him. Being how I'm the closest thing to him almost always, I also tend to be the one who have to suffer through endless of mood-swings, from brooding to uncaring and to, of course, the infamous anger. Cato is angry now, sitting by himself a distance away. A much larger distance than I would like, which eats at my nerves annoyingly. But then again, what doesn't eat at my nerves nowadays?

I swear whatever this thing is making me feel drives me fucking crazy. It the thing's fault. Everything is the thing's fault. If it hadn't been for it, Cato would still be talking to me. And I wouldn't be a bundle of broken nerves; on the verge of crying the one second and ready to tear out someone's throat out the next. I'm pathetic.

Cato is still furious the bitch on fire got away, and has probably spent every waking minute trying to figure out how to catch her, or in which way he would want her to leave this world. Either way, I feel kind of hurt his mind is everywhere else than on what is happening with me, with us. But then I remember there is no room for feeling hurt in the Arena, and that there are worse things set in motion than Cato forgetting he has planted a thing inside of me.

We're still at our camp when I see smoke rising from down below, and the person lightening the fire, because that is the only logic explanation of what it might be, sets a pretty obvious trap for themselves. Once the word 'trap' is in my mind, I can't get it out, and a bad feeling rises in the pit of my stomach. "Cato," I say, and watch as his head snaps up to face me. With a bit of an unsure frown, I look from him to the smoke. "Do you see that?"

Immediately he springs into action, grabbing his sword, and starts to yell at Marvel 'to get his lazy ass moving'. "What if it's her?" The excitement makes the air ecstatic and light around him, but I'm still not that sure. From what I've learned about Katniss, she isn't of the dumb kind. She would know that lightening a fire would lead us right to her. Cato stares me down, probably contemplating whether I should come or not by the looks of his almost worried expression. Well, to me it looks like worry anyway. To other people who don't know him it probably looks like he is planning how to kill me. No matter how calm Cato is, that trace of anger always lingers in his features, the fury never really escapes his face.

I know there is no point in starting a discussion about whether we should go or not, because I know when Cato's determined, he won't be rocked. "I'm coming with you," I decide for him, giving him a pointed look as if to say you can't make me stay here. It's not like the camp needs any extra guarding anyway – we have the mines. Cato also needs my brains, even though I'm often the one to act on impulse. It doesn't matter, because Cato and I have always worked best in a team – we have spent so much time with the other that we both know each other's weaknesses and strengths. We complement each other; where one of us lacks, the other fills. He needs me with him, if not for this obvious reason, then to keep me safe.

He has obviously drawn the same conclusion as he looks at me sternly, then nods in agreement. "What about him?" Marvel says, nodding to District 3, and I give a little groan. I want him to stay back here, watching our supplies as I'm still not completely convinced about this mine arrangement.

"He's coming," Cato announces, and I look at him in disbelief. A frown on my face, and annoyance in my chest.

"Why?" I demand. "Cato, he'll slow us down. And we need someone to guard our supplies." I don't really care District 3 is standing among us, hearing what we have to say about him.

But Cato has his mind set, and shakes his head. "He's gonna carry our food and shit, aren't you, buddy?" Cato gives a cruel grimace of a grin as he ruffles District 3's hair, and I can see the boy shiver in fear under Cato's touch. I know there is no point in protesting and I press my lips into a tight line to prevent my arguing words from escaping.

Cato obviously notices. "Got anything to say, princess?" I narrow my eyes at him, but stay silent to Cato's satisfaction. He grins in triumph, and I feel fucking annoyed I let him have this victory. "He's coming. We need him in the woods, and his job's done here anyway. No one can touch those supplies," Cato announces loudly like for emphasis that he has the final word.

"What about Lover Boy?" Marvel speaks up, and I'm once again reminded by all those petty arguments Cato and Marvel have, a lot of them being about Peeta who got away. But he has a point – Peeta is the only one who knows the way around the mines.

Cato turns his gaze to glare at Marvel, making the smaller boy almost step back. "I keep telling you, forget about him," Cato growls. "I know where I cut him. It's a miracle he hasn't bled to death yet. At any rate, he's in no shape to raid us." And that ends that argument, Cato once again having the final say.

"Come on," says Cato, shoving a spear into the arms of District 3, who's already wearing that heavy backpack full of supplies and has his hands full of things Cato thinks we need. We then proceed to move, all of us knowing Cato will be furious if we don't obey. We reach the line of the wood, and Cato says in his growling voice, "When we find her, I kill her in my own way, and no one interferes." That makes me smile. _Yeah, we'll see about that._

...

When we reach the fire from which the smoke rose from, there is no one around, and we all assume whoever lit it has had the common sense to get the hell out of there. It isn't before another trail of smoke reaches the sky somewhere ahead, some kind of worry overcomes me. No, not worry, _suspicion_. When we then reach that fire, and see nobody is here, alarm really settles in my body, and I just know something is up. "Cato," I say, trying to get his attention. He has spotted yet another trail of smoke, and is heading towards it. "Cato," I say a little more forcefully and he turns to look at me.

"What?" he growls in frustration. By the conflicted look on his face I can see he is thinking somewhat the same as me.

"Something's up," Marvel states the one thing we all seem to have been thinking from behind me. I turn to him and nod, a frown on my face. I know we don't really have time for this hesitation. We have walked for far too long to reach these camp fires, and realizing this is something bad just now is not good at all.

"We need to go back," I urge quietly. "Damn it, we need to go back fucking now, Cato." And the panic in my voice doesn't go unheard, not by me or the other people in our pack. But I can't control it, to my own very big frustration. Everything is just balling up on me, emotions, exhaustion, the fucking need to sleep but knowing I can't because sleep is a luxury I can't afford. They all stare at me, like they are contemplating what to do, my man seeming lost in thought.

And then there is that fucking booming sound. At first I think it's a cannon, that another tribute has been killed, but there is a much more different sound than the one we've grown accustomed to. There is something off about this exploding sound, and I can't really put my finger on why. Exploding...explosion..._mines. _"The fucking supplies, idiots!" I shout suddenly as realization settles. It works and I get them all kicked into action.

Fatigue is ready to settle in my body, but I know I can't let that stop me from keeping up. Both Marvel and Cato's legs are much longer than mine, which usually wouldn't really have stopped me. I'm fast, and in long distance runs I've beat Cato more than once. But now that could have just been a good dream, knowing I might throw up if I press myself too hard.

Everything I see ahead is smoke and scattered supplies as we get close enough to the camp to actually identify the situation. And instead of getting angry like I usually would have, I just feel like laying down and sleeping. I feel hopeless, on the verge of giving up – our food is non-existent, how the hell do we survive? And Cato, yes, my lovely Cato, he feels angry. I can feel it radiating from him where he stands a couple of feet on my side. I can feel it in the air, as well as see his muscles tense, his hand ball into fists, but most of all I can see it on his face. It's like madness takes over, ready to devour my man whole.

It almost surprised me how Cato doesn't scream in fury as he runs towards the camp, leaving Marvel and me behind him. Marvel looks worried, like he is afraid Cato will do something stupid in his growing tantrum – like kill him. And being worried about that might not be that crazy of him, but the real craziness is in front of us, storming towards the blown up supplies. I realize might not all the mines have been detonated yet, and if Cato runs into his own trap he might blow up. I do not want to see my man in thousands of pieces anytime soon, so I start sprinting after him.

Thankfully though, I see District 3 having started the task of seeing if all the mines exploded, having been the only one of us to not stop and watch the results of this disaster. Cato is also smart enough to not walk into the most dangerous zone, but stops to glare furiously at the sad remnants of our supplies. Marvel has joined me, and is silently plucking at some half-spared items, seeing if anything is of any use. Eyeing Cato with worry, I decide to do the same, desperately hoping there is something edible left.

Apparently I'm eating for two, and that makes me starve.

I feel drugged, like my mind isn't able to catch up with my body, or maybe it's the other way around. My body is numb almost, and I don't feel shocked, or angry, or frustrated, or sad we have lost our lifeline – I just feel empty. And the other thing, which makes me think someone has slipped something into my water, is how I so easily thought that thought. _I'm eating for two. _It's funny how I only feel the slightest twinge of nausea as the thought bounces around inside of my head, nothing else. Is this numbness acceptance, or am I just too tired to care? I'm hoping for the former, knowing we really don't have the time or resources to treat exhaustion properly. Not that we have the right supplies to support a pregnant woman either, but I guess that's just how the Arena works.

And then I see Cato move in the corner of my eye, and I just know this is going to be bad, or good, depending on who you ask. My former self would have thought this would be good, and stood there with a satisfied smirk on her face. But the present me feels indifferent about the matter. Cato's arm twinges a bit weirdly, like he needs to punch something, and I know he is going to find something, or someone to take his anger out on. "Cato," I warn, my voice strict, but low. I know there is no point in trying though, he is lost at the sea of fury right now and he doesn't want to be found just yet.

The eyes of District 3 grow wide and scared as the much bigger guy approaches him. "_You_," Cato hisses under his breath, like he can blame this whole thing on the boy. "You fucking planned this all along, didn't you?!" Cato is enraged, and before we all know it, the neck of the boy has been twisted and his lifeless body rests on the ground. My man's hands are shaking badly, and I know that this rage is not healthy for any of us. Even though he is standing a good distance away, I can hear him panting heavily as he is most likely trying to get a hold of himself. Marvel has a frown edged onto his forehead, as he also watches Cato fail at gaining composure. He looks at me, like if to say, 'Do something.' I roll my eyes to him, and take a couple of steps closer, studying Cato's behavior to see if I need to watch out for myself. When he is in this state, he doesn't really care who he is violent with, and that person might also be me. But then again, I'm also that person he regrets bruising the most, the one he won't kill and also the one who knows how to calm him down.

And then he starts to kick the remaining supplies, tearing at his hair, and growling curses into the empty air. It pains me almost, to see him like this, all torn up and a slave for his anger. I know how it is to be angered beyond control, how it feels like when fury licks your insides and you can't possibly escape the monster in any way because it's inside you. No, the monster _is_ you, it becomes you.

I say his name, loud and clear, hoping he hears me through his insane fog. It gets his attention, and he glares at me, his chest heaving and dropping in an irregular pattern. Giving him a pointed look with my raised eyebrows, I try to convey to him in the least talkative way how he needs to stop this, even though I know that attempt is fucking ridiculous of me. Didn't I just think how well I knew about losing control over my temper? I certainly know that when it happens, there is much more than a pointed look from Cato which is needed to calm me down. Usually he grabs me and refuses to let me go until I have calmed down. That is rather effective, even though he manages to piss me off even more at first by keeping me locked in his arms. But he always manages to calm me down, and I know I need to talk him out of this.

"Cato," I say, my voice wary, but soft, trying my best to get his attention. To get his attention away from the disaster which just hit, even though by focusing on me he will turn his attention to another disaster. _Two_ disasters at that. But I know I'm the only chance Cato has at calming down right now – he can spend hours in this rage. Taking a couple of steps closer, I know I risk him getting violent with me, but I'm not a little girl, I can take care of myself. He has turned his whole body against me now, standing in his ready to pounce stance. "You're not going to attack me, asshole," I tell him, adding a loving pet name for good measure.

The dark shadow which seems to go over his face tells me otherwise though, and I almost take a step back for failing at reading him. I eye the dead body of District 3, Cato's eyes never straying from me. "I'm not gonna end up like that," I tell him, nodding towards the dead, firmly stating my facts. He is standing still now, just breathing heavily. His eyes are flicking wildly over my features, and I hear the hitch in his breath as I take a step closer. Narrowing his eyes, Cato glares at me, and I take that as my cue to continue, taking another steps towards him. If he was going to hurt me, he would have already.

Then he suddenly kicks one of the unidentified remnants of out supplies, and the thing flies fast in my direction thought it misses me by inches. The curse from behind me indicates that it hit a not so amused Marvel, and under other circumstances I would probably have turned to laugh, or at least smirk at him, but I don't. I don't dare, thinking the second I turn my attention away from Cato, he is going to disappear on me.

In two sharp movements I have reached Cato and placed my hands on both of his cheeks. His angry pants hit my face, but I just grab a tighter hold of him. "Get off me," he growls, even though he does nothing to show he actually means his words – he is still just standing there, angry, growling under his breath. I shake my head slowly, looking at him. It seems like the world has frozen, and he is looking right back at me. Or not really looking, Cato is glaring.

"No," I tell him. "You're gonna fucking calm down." Narrowing my eyes I tell him I'm being serious. "We don't have time for this bullshit." His eyes are still flicking quickly over my face, as if to catch every slightest muscle I move. And for a moment it actually seems like he leans into my touch, that the tension in him loosens up, and he lets himself feel me, my hands against his skin.

But then he grabs both of my wrists, and forces them off him rather violently. "You're one to talk," he growls with a little insane, taunting smirk. Yeah, so now he is done being violent, and rather aims to hurt me in other ways. Well, he isn't exactly done being violent as his expression turns cold, and I'm basically thrown away from him. One thing I get from looking at my man's face, is that only revenge will justify this, and a bloody one at that. "What are you staring at?" Cato demands, aiming a poisonous glare at Marvel. I've managed to steady myself from Cato's violent ways of getting me out of his way, and I look at the less muscle-y boy too. Marvel quickly looks away, not wanting to anger my man any further, knowing it will not end well. His gaze rests on me instead, and there is almost a smirk on his face, a taunt, a realization. Marvel raises his eyebrows in a confirmation of his suspicious and all I want to do is slap that grin off his face.

"Who was it?" Cato demands, like we would know the answers. Both my and Marvel's gaze return to rest on Cato, who glares at me. "Who did this?" I know rolling my eyes will cause a reaction I definitely do not want, and I go back to searching for the surviving items of our supplies. Cato gives a sound of rage, but is more calm now than ever so I let him be. Our trio goes silent for a while, all of us just searching. At least me and Marvel are, Cato is just standing there, trying to control himself.

"Why the fuck are you so silent?" he asks after a while, and I turn to look at him. "Is it that hard for you to fucking answer me?" he says, glaring straight at me with his cold eyes.

"Is it that hard for you to understand I don't have an answer to fucking give you?" I answer his question with a question, realizing it might not be the best idea. But Cato is getting under my skin now, and if he has the right to act like a fucking asshole, then I have the right to be a bitch.

Cato snorts, taking a couple of steps forward. "Think you're so smart, huh, angel?" I bite my tongue as he uses his pet name for me. He is so mad, and I can't do anything about it.

Opening my mouth to fire some cruel retort back, I get interrupted by another voice. "Not to interrupt your interesting argument," Marvel says sarcastically, and looks at me arrogantly, not sure if he dares to look at Cato just yet. His eyes rest on what he has in his hands, and a fitting frown grows on Marvel's forehead. I have to squint to make out what he is holding, being how he is standing a distance away. It's an arrow, I realize with a start. "But Glimmer.." I say, trailing off. She's dead, and she was the only one with the bow and arrow.

"Bitch on fire," Cato growls suddenly, his eyes wide in realization. "I'm gonna get her, I'm gonna fucking kill her." He is speaking through clenched teeth, and I remember him telling me something about Katniss stealing Glimmer's bow and arrows before she died. And before I know it Cato has yelled for all three of us to go hunting.

"But the supplies.." I say, once again trailing off. Cato has picked up his sword and is ready to kill.

"What supplies, Clove?" he growls as he whirls on me. "There are no fucking supplies left!" And I look around at the sad pieces everywhere, knowing it's true. The only thing we have left is the big back pack District 3 was carrying around, which I point at for Cato to see.

"We have those," I tell him, and watch as his gaze rests on the back pack laying beside District 3's dead body. It didn't hit me before now how serious this is – how we basically have no food and weapons. The reasons us Careers are this strong is because we always get all the supplies, we need them to survive. I'm trained to hunt people, not animals.

Cato picks the back pack up, and turns to Marvel as if to get him to carry it. But then my man thinks it through, and places it on his own back instead. I nod silently in approval, even though Marvel has proved to be loyal, we don't know what he is thinking. And as neither of us seem to get that well along with him, I'm glad Cato isn't taking any chances. We can't afford to lose anything more.

"Let's just get away from here," I say. "We don't need to go hunting right away. Let's just sit down and think about our next move." I'm mainly saying this because I feel like I might pass out any second, and I'm sure Cato sees it too as his face turns into a frown when his gaze rests on me. "We can go to the other side of the lake, they need to take his body anyway," I say and nod to District 3, or what was District 3.

The only thing Cato does is glare at me for trying to take control over the situation. It's not like I'm trying to defy him, or call him out on making the wrong decisions, but I think he needs to clear his head, get rid of that anger, before we do anything else. Cato and anger is a dangerous mix, one which sadly puts himself more at risk than anyone. And I can't have that. "Besides, she probably died anyway." That's a new thought coming to my mind. She must have died trying to get to our supplies, and the noise of the explosion blocked out the cannon. The hovercraft probably already came to pick up her body long before we reached the camp, and the only thing she left behind was one lonely arrow which fell out, or for all we know, could have been remnants from Glimmer's living days. I look up at Cato, and he is giving me an angry, yet puzzled gaze. "Trying to get to our supplies, Cato. She probably died as they went off."

Everything goes silent as he seems to consider this, and I feel Marvel holding his breath at my side, as if he is awaiting an outburst from Cato. Surprising us all, Cato nods eventually, finally seeing the logic in my words. "Okay," he says, his voice still tense and angry, but it's not furious. Right now I think that is the only thing we can hope for.

And then we wait.

Darkness comes much faster than I'd like, and I have barely gotten sit down and rest as Panem's anthem booms up above us, before both the music and the seal disappears to leave us in the utter dark. Then all the dead tributes appear. Except it's only one – the boy of District 3 whom Cato killed personally. Standing up abruptly Cato growls a curse, and I know there will be tolerated no protests or discussions when he says we are going hunting. I bite my lip, but obey as he hands me the night-vision glasses, putting them on and watching as the world turns eerie and green-ish. Marvel lights a torch, and then we are off to get that bitch on fire.

The dark makes it easier for us to hunt without being seen, as long as we have the ability to stay silent. While I'm obviously the best at this, Marvel and Cato aren't too bad either, considering their size that is. Even though it's obvious they were never built to walk quietly. But no matter how quiet we walk, how little we talk, or how far we go, no tribute seem to be there. It is really taking its toll on my nerves, but even more on my body.

I have these stomach cramps which just won't go away, and I feel them twisting in my lower abdomen for every step I take. It is getting really bad, and I find myself having to gasp for air sometimes, just because the pain is determined to not let me have any air. "Fucking hell," I mutter under my breath, causing Cato's eyes to rest on me. Cato and I are walking side by side and Marvel a couple of steps in front of us. He obviously trusts we won't stab him in the back, literally, and he is right too. Honor means a lot to both Cato and me, and stabbing your ally is a failure to the code of honor.

Cato's forehead turns into a frown as he looks at me, and obviously notices my condition. It's like he is asking if I'm okay, which I'm not, but I know that my health or condition shouldn't matter. Screw health, I'll be dead soon anyway. But it gets harder and harder for me to move on, being how my body is physically failing me. "Shut up," I snap once he opens his mouth to talk, and I can see the annoyance mixing with the worry.

"We'll take a break," Cato says, stopping where we walk in the middle of nowhere. I look at him, opening my mouth to protest, but he shakes his head, cutting me off.

Marvel turns around with a glare, which softens when Cato glares back. "Why?" he demands. "We've only been walking for two hours tops." His gaze slyly slides from Cato and over to me, and he narrows his eyes in suspicion it seems.

Cato slips the back pack off his back, the thump it makes landing on the ground sounding painfully loud in the empty forest. "You're not the one carrying this fucking thing," he says, surprising me. Cato is actually taking the blame, protecting me almost, or at least my image. Taking the blame and saying he is tired of carrying the back pack instead of letting Marvel and the whole of Panem see I'm the one who is having trouble. I almost smile, but know better than to let that show. On the inside though, I feel much better, much lighter, like I can go on for a while after all, not preparing for my own death.

I look up at him, admiring him as usual, but not only in that 'I'm totally on my knees for him' way. I'm admiring him because beneath all that murderous blood-lust, and that dangerous rage, hides the man who loves me. The ridiculous thought makes me want to smile again, and I have to bite my lip to keep it from surfacing. "You should find some wood for a fire," Cato tells Marvel, who just glares in response before trudging off. Well, not really, first he proceeds to take a couple of steps forward and snatch the night-vision glasses out of my hand, and giving me his dying torch. He smirks, and then he leaves, leaving me and Cato alone.

"Thanks," I murmur softly as Marvel disappears in the dark, looking up at my man. My words are so soft I'm not sure if he heard me, or if the cameras even picked up on it.

Cato has taken off his goggles too, and I can now see his eyes, his face illuminated by the light of the torch. There is the tiniest tug of the corner of his lips, looking almost like a twitch of his muscles, but to me it clearly resembles a smile. "For what?" he says. "That shit's much heavier than it looks." And I can't keep the smile off of my face any longer, even though I look away and let my hair fall into my face to hide it. But I guess Cato is also kind of right too, it's a heavy back pack, and I'm not really sure how District 3 managed to carry it as well as he did.

There is enough room just where we are to fit a little camp. For us to rest and maybe if I'm lucky, get a little sleep. I know nights are supposed to be when we hunt, but my body has never protested like this before. And I know that pushing myself too hard will lead to something much worse. What if I pass out when we really need to run, what happens then?

I sit down on the ground, eventually being followed by Cato after he is done rolling his eyes. Silence surrounds us, one of those comfortable ones, my mood suddenly being so much better than it was a couple of minutes ago. That is the power Cato has over me, being able to make me feel like shit, but still knowing exactly how to make me feel like his everything. He starts to search in the big back pack, probably after something to eat. Handing me half a bag of crackers, he once again proves to be so much more than his monstrous surface.

And the best part of our little break? I get to sleep. Cato allows me to sleep for about two full hours, and even if that's far from enough, it helps me a lot. I'm awoken by a not so gentle shake, but I still feel happy when I wake, the only reason being how my body is pretty much pressed against Cato's. My head is resting on his arm, and even though I'm laying so I don't face him, I feel so close to him. That moment is perfect to me, collected by my memory forever to be cherished in my heart. The first thing I see as I open my eyes is a crackling fire, and the second thing I see is Marvel laying on his back on the other side of it, eyeing me, or rather Cato and me. A little sad smirk is on his face, like if to say he knew all along, like if to say he is sorry.

I let myself smile a little sad smile back, only the slightest curve of my lips, just to let him know I don't think he is that bad of a guy after all. Sure, he is annoying as fuck, and feels the need to constantly challenge Cato, but he has grown on me. I wouldn't say I would be terribly sad if he died, but I don't want to be the one to finish him off either. Fuck this Arena and bonding with my enemy. But I guess that's what I've always done – just look at Cato and me. He always was the enemy, and he is now too. My cherished lover, my worst enemy.

Turning around with a yawn, I find Cato looking down at me. "You were cold," he said gruffly, and I take that as my cue to sit up. Sitting up, I yawn once more, rubbing my tired eyes. Cato still hasn't moved from my side, though he has sat up too, causing the warmth of his body to mix with mine. It's some comfort in this blackness of the dark, in this mess of a life. Having his arm casually brush my back feels like that last night before the Arena all over again in this state I'm in. I'm craving his touch so badly, not because I'm some kind of horny maniac, really, but because I need his assurance. I need comfort, a sign it is all going to be okay. I need him to hold me and tell me that I, him, and our baby is going to be okay.

And it takes my breath away when I think about how we aren't.

_Fuck._

I never knew a heart could bleed without being stabbed.


	23. Announcement

Hi, loves!

As many of you seem to have noticed, I haven't updated this story in over a year and I can't even tell you how sorry I am about that. Though the encouragement to continue writing and the compliments I have received from you all through PMs, E-mail and even through tumblr have been overwhelming and really touching - I've appreciated them all a lot. Which is why I'm sorry to announce that I will not be updating this story anymore. I started writing this when I was thirteen years old, and a lot has changed since then - I have changed, I mean, dude, I'm seventeen and yeah, I just don't feel up for continuing.

BUT, that doesn't mean this is the end, my dear lovelies. I'm actually really happy to tell you all that I will be writing a sequel for when our favorite lovers escape the madness that is the Games together. There will be a few very minor changes but the story will essentially be the same, and the parts that I never wrote here will be revealed and accounted for. It will be set after the Games, and that's all I'm willing to say for now.

I've been feeling pretty shitty about leaving this story alone for so long, especially without telling anyone what's going on - but yeah, here I am. Hopefully, you all understand where I'm coming from and also like the idea of the sequel as much as I enjoy writing it. Again, I'm terribly sorry for all the waiting and the unanswered messages and everything, but now you all at least know what's going on.

I will also not be posting on this account anymore as I have moved on - there are bad memories tied to this account and I just needed a clean slate. The story will be posted on my new account (/~masonsaxes). If any of you who have messaged me whom I haven't answered really want their reply, please resend your message to that account or contact me on my tumblr (ofvalkyries) or send me an e-mail (masonsaxes hotmail .com) and I'll try to get to it as soon as possible. (Obviously ff won't let us write links here, but hopefully you will all be able to fill in the necessities yourselves - though I will also be linking to my new account on my profile)

Well, yeah, thanks for reading. I'm looking forward to sharing my work with you guys again.

- Drea xx


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